This Frenzied State
by hangthesilver
Summary: When Roxas stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see into some eternity. When Axel stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see how he'd survive a fourteen floor fall. Akuroku, AU.
1. Part 1

Title: This Frenzied State  
Rating: M  
Genre: Drama/romance  
Pairing: Axel/Roxas (AU)  
Word count: 8,615/ 81, 004 (so far)  
Warnings: Abuse of miscellaneous Final Fantasy characters. Seriously. Any mischaracterization is obviously all my fault.  
Summary: When Roxas stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see into some eternity. When Axel stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see how he'd survive a fourteen floor fall.

Notes: This was my Nano. It's nearly finished, and I will be posting in some type of order soon. Might be fast, might be slow. Concrit encouraged. The title comes from the band Barcelona, off the song "Response." :3

* * *

The last time that Roxas had jumped from a building, he had never considered the possibility that he might live through the ordeal. There had been a lot of panicked screams, someone shouting about a terrorist and then for an ambulance, and then, quite remarkably, a pigeon. He'd been utterly and completely disappointed by the entire affair—so disappointed, in fact, that he'd gone and lived at a camp in a mountain where he was granted the opportunity to complain and whine about just how utterly and disappointed he really was. Sometimes he would complain and whine about other affairs, but for the most part he'd stuck to the event involving the roof of the building and the pigeon.

That had been a million years ago, however, and it seemed like his jumping days were over—all except for those days, of course, when he sat in this cubicle, which always startled him because for some reason, someone had painted it a gorgeous color of sprightly sunflower yellow. Sometimes it blinded him, and sometimes he found calm staring into the yellow walls, but for the most part, there was only the annoyance, as well as the annoyances that occurred in this office, annoyances that were usually enough to reinstate every thought he'd ever had in his roof-jumping days that Dr. Phil had tried to stamp out of him.

"And it was _this_ big!" the current annoyance, Demyx, said exuberantly, his hands spread out about a foot apart from each other. When speaking about Demyx the word "annoyance" could sometimes be replaced with "stupid," which was just about the same as the sunflower yellow walls. Occasionally the two tags could be replaced begrudgingly with the tag "good company," though that tag was sometimes also reserved for his anti-social cat so replacing them probably didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things.

"Was that the punchline?" Roxas asked, watching the red numbers on the clock's face.

"No, and then I said 'wanna dance?' and then I threw water in his face!" The latter was said triumphantly, which meant Demyx had either fought with someone or had discovered and attained a new kitten, but Roxas wasn't sure which because he'd been too busy counting the seconds until each number on the digital face of the clock ticked over to 1 so he could exhale slowly. If he had to guess, though, he'd guess the new kitten, because Demyx had something he called a "soft spot;" something Roxas called a "very immature spot" and that tag wasn't replaced very often by anyone in any relationship.

"So then Xigbar stepped in and beat him up?" he said, taking a wild stab in the dark at what Demyx was talking about.

"Of course," Demyx said, sounding extremely disappointed in the fact that Roxas wasn't more excited for him; his lower lip began to tug downward in a pout, but a clanking noise from outside the cubicle seemed to catch his attention and he whipped his head out before excitedly whipping it back in. "Roxas, it's the Mexican ice cream dude with those blue things you like so much!"

Three minutes, he had three minutes until each number ticked over to a 1, and that was plenty of time, so he said nothing and shot up, out of the chair into the narrow hallway that was also—surprise—painted the same sunflower yellow color as the walls of his cubicle. They got to the end of the hallway, retrieved their ice cream, and by the time they returned the numbers on the clock face had each passed their respective 1 spot because Demyx hadn't had change for a twenty and he refused to let Roxas pay because he was a man, damnit, and men paid their own say, so he'd spent a harrowing four minutes attempting to coerce the ice cream guy who didn't speak very good English into accepting a trade of Demyx's cheap watch for his ice cream bar, which eventually the man had taken, probably more out of confusion than any real desire for the cheap Velcro. Roxas sat back in his seat, and eyed the clock, and wondered if there was a padlock to the roof and what cars were in the parking lot on this side of the building.

By the time Demyx had apologized profusely, vacated the premises, and Roxas was logged back into the system with his headphones on, he'd remembered that the jerk who had a fondness for cutting him off in his big white F-150 truck, and who also had a most insistent habit of cleaning his windows every day before departing from work, had parked on the side of the building nearest the door to the roof, and the owner would probably appreciate a healthy coat of new paint. He had those big bug guards as well, the sharp black ones, along with a glinting chrome grate in the front. Perfect candidate, perfect time. He could write a goddamn speech about the perfection of it all but his box was blinking red at him and beeping belatedly in his ear.

He heard the system say something about the call, and then suddenly remembered that Naminé had some type of art exhibit next week, and she'd gone and been the hugest bitch in the world and painted him, or sketched him, or had done something different with her goddamn hands and had already told him that she'd appreciate him showing up, preferably breathing and not via spirit or haunting while in the purgatory he surely was going to wind up in. Goddamnit.

"Rogart Airways, Roxas Hart," he said, automatically and edging in with his spiel, mind still on Naminé and her goddamn painting and cheery little smile, "we offer the lowest fares and best service in the industry and—"

"Hello!" the voice on the other end interrupted with some sort of crazed cheerfulness. "Hey, I need to go from New York to Los Angeles sometime in the next day. Can you tell me how much that's going to be?"

Roxas was already irritated. "I can, what time did you want to depart?"

The caller sounded stressed, then, as though he wasn't sure, and then finally just snapped and said whatever was cheapest. Roxas rolled his eyes, went about pricing the fare, and when he told him the price, the caller sort of made a strangled little gasp.

"That… that expensive?"

"Yes." No flourish, simple answers.

"Why?"

Roxas muted, muttered "you fucking idiot", and went off mute and said cheerlessly, "It's more expensive because you want to fly out so soon. Generally our lower fares are reserved for our customers who book further in advance. It's just generally the way we price things. Would you like me to book this flight for you?"

There was silence. Roxas muted, muttered "fucking die in a fire you fucking asshole," and went off mute and asked, "Sir?"

"I… I, okay, can you… can you put it on a time limit for me?"

Roxas muted, muttered "for the love of god jump off a cliff," and went off mute and said, "Certainly. Can I have your name as it appears on your government issued photo identification?"

"Axel," the man said, "my name's Axel Stone."

Roxas took his information, gave out the standard spiel about the time limit procedures and restrictions, and said forcefully, "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Silence on the other end, and Roxas opened his mouth to mutter something about "fucking get a backbone and jump off a building," when the caller came back and said, "Hey, Roxas?"

For a second Roxas lost his composure, because he most certainly wasn't used to anybody who called him using his real name—he was quite used to the terms "fuckwit," "asshole," and "money guzzling whore" however—on the phone and said, "What?"

"How's the weather?"

Roxas stared at the screen, blinked a second, and then rolled his eyes. "It's fine sir, it's a little hot outside but otherwise, it's just fine. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Because I assume you're not here," the man was saying, almost absently, "because I'm in New York and I heard you guys had call centers in like, Texas but not here and I was just curious because—"

"No," Roxas interrupted, with no sense of cheer or familiarity or pretty much even decency, "we have our office in New York as well."

"Oh cool. Are you in like, Brooklyn? That's where I'm at. Brooklyn."

"That's nice," Roxas said, fingers hovering dangerously over the "end call" key. "Is there anything else?"

"Are you in Brooklyn? I was asking you, sorry, didn't mean to get caught up."

"No, we're further north, in Sunnydale," Roxas said, looking at yellow walls.

"Oh, my aunt lives in Sunnydale. She says it's nice. I've never been, though I want to go sometimes. Just never have the cash, you know? Transportation aint' cheap these days, you know?"

Roxas wanted to wrap the phone cord around his neck and strangle himself. "I understand, sir," he said, tapping his fingers loudly on the desk and hoping the sound carried onto the phone. "I understand completely. Thank you for calling—"

"Ever been to LA?"

Roxas was practically weeping now. "No, I haven't. I'm sure it's lovely, dandy, fine now."

"I'm just asking because I want to go," the man, Axel, said sort of breezily, "you know, this fare you put on hold for me. I just, it's expensive and I'd have to leave today or tomorrow, you know. My uh… my dad died and there's a funeral in a few days so I figured I'd better get up there, you know?"

Roxas banged his head onto the table, though he remembered to push mute before he opened his mouth and spat out, "Goddamnbitchmotherfucker get off my phone you goddamnfuckingidiotdamnit." Taking a moment to gaze at the sunflower walls and reflect on his life and possible death, he took a deep breath and said, "Sir? You said you were flying for a funeral?"

There was a pause, and then Axel Stone said, a slightly more hostile voice, "That's a bit personal, don't you think?"

There were things in life that caused high blood pressure and Roxas was only twenty, and he wasn't sure if he could die yet, but with high enough blood pressure, he figured it was pretty plausible.

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry for your loss, but we do have compassion fares that would significantly lower—"

"I guess I'm sorry too, I'm just—lower?"

"Compassion fares. If you're traveling for a funeral. I could check your flight for you and see if there's anything available."

"That would be _great,'_" the caller gushed, and Roxas rolled his eyes to the ceiling, wondered why jumping off a roof had never really been successful, and then clicked in the appropriate keys. It turned out that there was something available, and well certainly not cheap, it was nowhere near as bad the price he'd read a few moments before. He unmuted and told the caller the estimated price and there was a silence.

"Sir?" Roxas asked, about ready to hang up and attempt to salvage anything he could of his call time.

"Can you put that one on hold for me?" There was a slight apprehension, before a rushed, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just need to get my mom's credit card but I'm in a rush because I need to go to class and I'm sorry, you know, I know it probably sucks having people like me who change their minds all the time, I know, but I mean—"

"It's no problem," Roxas interrupted through gritted teeth, set the record on a limit, and read back the locator without stopping to see if Axel Stone had a pen handy. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"No, no thanks, you were a great help, I'll probably call back in a few hours, thanks a ton—"

"Thank you for calling Rogert," Roxas said smoothly. "Have a great day."

"You too, thanks again and—"

Roxas disconnected the call, breathed out through his mouth, inhaled through his nose, and repeated the process a few times before opening his eyes to see the same walls. He paused his queue, repeated the process for about a minute, blinked a few times, repeated the process again, and went back to place himself on queue again. There. He was sufficiently calm now. Ready to deal with the general public again. That nearly gave him a headache just thinking about it, so he repeated his process a few more times, and then when he opened his eyes at last, there was a change of scenery: there was his supervisor, standing there, looking down at him with concern.

"I think we need to have a talk Roxas," Lexaeus said, as quietly as he said anything else.

For a second Roxas wished, very fervently and without remorse, for the death of whoever had just called. He supposed that wasn't a fair thing; it surely wasn't a right thing, but damnit, he knew what had happened by the look in Lexaeus's eyes. He'd been rude and he knew it and the customer had probably known it—well that was an iffy one, since god knew that Axel Stone hadn't seemed like the brightest crayon in the box—and Lexaeus certainly had known it from listening in, something that happened quite often around here. He was about to be reprimanded. Get written up. Have a damn yellow sticky put in his goddamn manila file and have it follow him around like some yellow sticky-noted winged bird for the rest of his life here, which probably wouldn't be very long, because, he remembered, there were no guards around this building and the roof was probably not very closely guarded at all.

Just as Lexaeus raised a finger to indicate he should follow, his call box lit up with flashing red lights and he heard the recorded greeting in his headset. He felt some glimmer of glee that his punishment had been put on hold; the call had beeped into him, he couldn't just transfer it off—that was against their very prestigious and very strictly followed customer standards that had made them world famous and who knew what would happen if this incident leaked out, his transferring of a call to another Representative? The very world might collapse, that's what was going to happen, and so he made a very apologetic face at Lexaeus, pointed to his call box, and started his spiel as soon as he heard the taped recording was done.

"Small world," mused the voice on the other end when the spiel was done, "considering I'd figure you must have, what, like, at least two hundred other people working there and I get back to you? It must be fate!"

Roxas did not at first recognize the voice on the other end of the line. He blinked at the screen, saw that the automated system hadn't picked up any useful information, and said a little hesitantly, "May I ask whom I'm speaking with?"

"Oh, sorry Rox," said the caller, and that immediately irritated and annoyed and made Roxas want to smash his headset into his bleary monitor. _Nobody_ called him Rox. _Dead people_ called him Rox. This caller certainly didn't have the right to call him Rox and he opened his mouth to say so, before remembering that Lexaeus was still standing there watching him, but not before the caller continued, "this is Axel. Axel Stone. I just had you a few minutes ago."

Roxas gritted his teeth when he realized that it was the dude with the dead father, the one that had made him pull up the compassion fare, and pretty much the man who had insured that Lexaeus would be standing over his shoulder for a few months to make sure a stray "fuck you" didn't enter a poor customer's ear. He focused on the sunflower walls, because they were the color of the sun, and the sun was _burning, fiery, intense, angry_ and also certainly very calm, all in its stationary and nonmoving glory. Yes, be the sun. Be the sun. Be the sun. Be the sun.

"Yes, I certainly remember, Mr. Stone," Roxas said, starting to pull down the dropdown menu to attempt and retrieve the idiot's record. "Are you—"

"No need for that," Axel Stone said, chuckling a little, "I feel like we're old friends, you know, good old friends. Axel would be just fine. Got it memorized?"

Stationary, stationary and calm and certainly _not fiery and angry_ just like the sun.

"Sure thing… Axel," Roxas said, hoping there was no irritation in his voice, though a quick glance at Lexaeus's mostly expressionless face sort of hinted otherwise. "Now, I have your file pulled up here, did you want to pay for that ticket now?"

"Yea, that'd be great, I didn't realize I had my mom's credit card with me anyway, and my class got cancelled, which was sweet, but I figured I'd better pay for it now, I mean, I know you guys are nice enough to put it on a time limit for me but who knows what sort of interesting things happen in the time between you taking my order and you taking my money, I'm sure you guys have a huge system and things could slip through the cracks, not that I'm focusing on you or anyone you know or even your company, it's just a proven and tireless fact so yea, I should pay for it now and get confirmed and stuff before its gone. Hello?"

There were security cameras everywhere, and Roxas wondered, dimly, if he could somehow convince Lexaeus to access one, so that he could see how far his mouth had dropped open. It would be amusing for about a split second or so but Roxas took amusing in every split second he could come by.

"I'm still here," he managed, albeit a little faintly. "Can I have the credit card number?"

"No prob, let me get it out of my backpack, it's sort of annoying since it has too many zippers. It was a gift and you don't look a gift horse in the mouth is what they always say and it's 4920492193196."

Roxas, practically sleeping with his eyes open, was startled into the number and frantically tapped it out into the keyboard. He managed to extract the security code, the expiration date, the name, and the mailing address without too much of a sidetrack and he was just beginning to hope that this conversation might nearly be over, god love him, but when they came to the email address, there was another pause, and another tirade.

"Oh, so you can send me my itinerary? That would be rad, I probably want to know when I'm going and when I'll be back and whatnot, but ok, here, don't freak out, I got his email address when I was like, sixteen and I've matured so much since then, I swear I'm not a juvenile delinquent or sitting in prison for the next few years because of something related to this, it's just something I thought was clever at the same time, which I guess it sort of is, but it's still sort of juvenile and I should probably make another one. Don't you think?"

"Well," Roxas said, choosing every single word before he said them, happily realizing he hadn't picked an odd "fuck" in the mix, "that would depend on what it is."

"Oh! I thought I'd told you! It's ilightthingsonfire1209 at . Like I said, it was just a phase and it's just stuck with me forever, you know."

"It's not a problem," Roxas gritted out, updating his record and thinking _calm sun calm sun calm sun calm sun._ "Now, you have your record locator, you can check in at the airport, and—"

"Roxas?" he interrupted suddenly, "Roxas, do you live in Sunnydale?"

He wanted to scream. "Yes, I do."

"Is it nice?"

"It's… lovely."

"Yea? I want to move up there soon. I… Brooklyn is a bit too much for me these days, and especially now."

Oh, god save him if this idiot _ever_ set foot in his city.

"It's quite a lovely spot to settle in," he said, for the sake of Lexaeus, who was watching him with those intense brown eyes. "I like it a lot."

"Yea? Lots of night life?"

"Oh yes, definitely, just bustling."

"Great. Oh well, I have another call on the other end, thanks for all your help Roxas… I truly, truly appreciate it."

"You have a fantastic day now," Roxas said hollowly, and clicked off the call, looking helplessly at his Lead.

Lexaeus observed him fairly, and then said, "An idiot?"

"Grade A."

"Well, be a little nicer next time, please." With that he stepped out of the cubicle and started down the hall.

Tipping back in his very ergonomically correct chair, Roxas sighed, massaged his temples, and wondered how mad Naminé would be, exactly, if he missed her art show.

__

The door to the roof ended up being locked, and not just simply locked, locked with a padlock. Upon extracting this information from the janitor, he'd gone back to his computer, logged into the company intraweb, and looked up any deaths in connection with Rogert. It took him back about six years, and in the name of the file was somebody by the name of Saix, who had lost someone dear to him in a tragic accident involving an automobile and a diabolical intent to take over the world. Saix had apparently been a beast of a man, had broken the flimsy latch lock, and walked off the roof into, quite incidentally, a large white F-150 with shiny chrome guards and sharp bug shields.

As much as Roxas just thoroughly, thoroughly, _thoroughly_ enjoyed his job, walking off the roof into the same care that this Saix fellow had apparently walked off onto was not something he wanted to add to his resume. Maybe Naminé's roof would work. She lived in a high building. And probably nobody had jumped off that roof onto a white F-150.

It would work just fine.

__

When he showed up at Naminé's door, canvas messenger bag over his shoulder, soaking wet, hair sticking up at extreme angles he didn't know hair could stick up in, the first thing he asked was, "Does your roof have a padlock on it?"

Naminé merely chuckled fondly at him, ushered him inside, made him take off his shoes and put them in front of fake fireplace, and then brought him a few towels to dry off with. She immediately set about busily, starting to boil water for tea and pulling out a couple of those microwaveable pretzels that she kept around solely for him. She was like his mother, Roxas reflected, stepping into the shower and turning on the hot water, except that unlike his mother, she seemed like she actually cared.

He spent a long time in the shower, past the point of wrinkled skin, but the water pressure was higher here than in his own apartment, and it felt like some cheap massage, but it felt delicious nonetheless. The tension in his neck mostly washed away, and the coldness seeped out of his bones. There was something therapeutic that most people didn't know about showers—standing underneath a hot stream of water wasn't unlike that hot flash of crashing onto a car hood. It was a good reminder.

Sometimes it felt good, and other times, it felt downright painful.

Right now the heat wormed deliciously underneath his skin and when he reappeared in the living room, dry with much more manageable hair, he wanted to be back underneath that hot stream. Read: he wanted to be back crashing against a car hood. Pain was beautiful. Heat was beautiful. Therefore, they were the same, or, whatever the fuck the shrinks had put into his brain. Something was beautiful, but he had a hard time picking what that thing was most days.

Naminé was sitting at the table, eyeing him critically as he started tearing into the two pretzels she'd set out for him. "You know, you can't live on these alone," she said conversationally, taking a slow sip of her tea as she watched him shovel the food into his mouth like it was the only sustenance he'd had in days. Roxas didn't love much, but he loved the pretzels and he loved that ice cream the Mexican vendor sold.

"Why not?" he asked, working on the other one. "They're oh so healthy and nutritious and part of a complete breakfast."

She frowned. "I wasn't aware you ate pretzels for breakfast."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I wasn't aware you didn't. I can't be your friend anymore."

She smiled at that, and leaned back in her chair, watching him still very critically. Like a hawk this girl who was more of a woman was, like a hawk. This bitch was violent. Roxas wasn't so much afraid of her as he was _terrified_ of her. She might have the delicate little angel face with the big blue eyes, but Roxas knew better. Oh, Roxas knew better.

"So," she said, very casually as she examined her nails, but Roxas knew better about this too. Immediately on the defensive, he took the last chew of his pretzel, leaned back in his chair, armed himself with whatever mental weapon he could find (i.e., he armed himself with a very steel nerve that consisted of orders to not break underneath her interrogation and start sobbing like a bitch), and waited. She seemed content to take her time, which made him start to get nervous about the approach she was about to take. Maybe he could escape away to the television. What day was it? Wednesday? Nothing but reality television shows and reruns of _Desperate Housewives,_ which Roxas supposed he could escape too, possibly with the explanation that he had a thing for Marcia Cross, but Naminé knew better. Skates, the cat? His eyes darted around frantically, but the ten pounds of fury and sharp was nowhere to be seen. Damnit. Bathroom? Yes, that was a perfect—

"So, how was work?"

He'd narrowly averted a heart attack and she was prattling on about _work? _Did she _want_ him to die?

"Work was just utterly fantastic," he said, massaging his chest soothingly, telling his heart that it would be okay, everything would be just fine. "You know, the usual. Idiots. Ax murderers fleeing the law. Grieving parents expecting me to cut them a break. Senior citizens bitching about their damn wheelchairs. All in a day's work."

Naminé nodded pleasantly. "I expect you gave them the best customer service in the industry."

Roxas nodded, ever enthusiastically. "Oh, you know me baby, I always bring my A game to the table when it concerns bitching customers."

There was a pause, where she peered at him, and then said severely, "You're just as bad, don't give me any of that."

He rolled his eyes, and got out of the chair, having convinced his scared heart that he'd told the evil demon woman to go away and leave them alone. He took the plate and the tea cup to the sink, threw out most of the tea, rinsed them, and stuck them in the dishwasher. There was silence except for the clinking of his dinnerware, but he didn't expect the silence to lull away anytime soon. He did a quick check on his shoes, grabbed the remote from on top of the television, and sat down. There was, indeed, _Desperate Housewives._ And Marcia Cross did have lovely hair.

A thump next to him told him that Naminé was sitting there, next to him. Should he pay attention to her?

"Roxas," she said, finally, and he had managed to calm his heart rather impressively at her voice. "Roxas, your mom called me and asked me to make sure you knew what next week is."

His heart would be the death of him, not any cars or any roofs, but his heart, simply giving away, Naminé the instrument of its demise.

"What's next week?" he asked vaguely, focusing on that wonderful sheen of red hair.

"Next week's the second week of the month," she said, forcefully. "You know… the 11th."

"Oh yea, I know, you don't have to worry, I know," he said, distractedly, wondering if he'd look as good a redhead.

"So you're going to see her in Brooklyn, right? She wanted me to make sure you were."

"Yea, I am, already took the day off and everything…"

There was a pause, and then a sigh. "She's really worried about you, you know."

No reply from him, and then another sigh. "So am I."

At that he turned toward her, peered at her for a moment, and said, "Don't be. You shouldn't. I'm fine."

She looked at him very skeptically. "You've said that before, you know.'

"Well, yea. I'm fine Naminé. Really. You know me better than anyone." He smiled as brilliantly as he could at her and reached out and shook her shoulder in a very easygoing way. "I'm fine. The job just sucks. You know that."

There was an odd, sad quality about the smile she gave him, though it was a smile still, nonetheless. "Yea, I know. You just worry me is all."

"Reportedly I worry everyone, so you're not alone in that buck." He expected that to make her chuckle at least, but the quiet look on her face only increased and he sighed himself, getting up from his couching position to sit right next to her and tap on her skull lightly. "Hey, I'm right here, crazy. I'm fine."

"Yea, I know. I do." She didn't say anything else, and he didn't try to force her, and instead he focused back on the sheen in Marcia Cross's hair, because that was quite shiny, and like every other boy that ever existed, Roxas was well-invested in and quite fond of shiny things.

There were two more reruns of it after that, and by the middle of the second he had drifted off with his head on Naminé's lap, thinking about Brooklyn.

__

When Roxas woke up the next morning, covered in a blanket on the couch, he checked his phone and saw that it was just after eight in the morning and that Naminé wasn't awake yet because her bedroom door was closed. He had to work in three hours, but he put on his now dry shoes and jacket, went outside, and found the stairs that led up to roof. There was no security guard, and the lock on the door was flimsy.

It would give with a well placed kick.

__

_Minute one, minute two, minute three._

He was in a castle, and the walls were painted white.

_Minute four, fix, six._

There was a big egg there, questionably, a big, smooth, oval egg right in the middle of the room, and feeding into it were gently sloped wires.

_Seven, eight, nine._

There was a knocking noise, horrifyingly loud, and it came from inside the pod, because there was something _alive_ in there.

_Ten._

It was louder and he stepped toward it, and when he did, it started to open.

_Eleven, twelve._

There was a disembodied voice that seemed to float out of the pod, growing louder, and louder, and louder and it was saying his name, in some sort of odd, crazy--

_Thirteen._

"AXEL!"

Axel shot up, and yelped in pain when his head connected squarely with the piece of wood directly above him. He felt stars blink in and out of his eyes for moment while he frantically rubbed his head and tried to get out of the bed. Before figuring out that he was still too long for the bed, his legs got tangled in the sheets, and he attempted a kamikaze maneuver to escape. He ended up crashing to the floor in a heap of tangled blankets and sheets.

"AXEL GET UP YOU'RE LATE."

The voice was pissed and irritated, so that meant it was probably Reno. Muttering and still seeing vague red stars in his eyes, he untangled himself and realized that the alarm clock was, indeed, shrieking at him. He blinked at it, and then smirked, even though Reno had given up with one simple pound on the door and was now using both his fists. It had been going off for about half an hour now. He heard something else connect firmly with the door, something different and less hollow than a fist, and then a stream of swear words.

"FUCKING A AXEL GET UP WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE—AHH!"

Axel squared his fists and turned just in time to see Reno come hurtling through the door clumsily, the lock having given away. His momentum carried him into the corner of the bunk bed, and he let loose a soft gasp for air and propelled back, hitting the dresser with his backside and almost bouncing off that back into the bed. He managed to swing his arms in a great circle, though, knocking off a couple of books from the shelf above the dresser, but it stopped him from again jostling forward into the antique bed. It took a second, but Axel raised his hands and slowly started clapping.

Reno glared at him, baring his teeth. "Get up you little shithead, we're going to be _late_!"

"Like you care," Axel said breezily, rubbing his forehead and still not getting up from his position on the floor. "You were bitching about it all yesterday. It's okay, you can admit it, you don't want to go. I understand. I see where you're coming from. Go ahead, you can open up and give me all you feelings—"

"Do you ever shut up?" Reno snapped crossly, shaking himself and cracking his neck, as though the traumatic encounter with both the bed and the dresser had caused his neck to become full of kinks. "Just hurry up and get dressed and for fuck's sake, do something with your hair." He wheeled around, nearly slammed back into the dresser, avoided it, and stomped out of the room, being very careful to yank the door shut, _hard,_ but when he did that it sprang back open and Axel heard his high pitched voice shriek, "_You fucking broke my door you little prick!"_

"Yes, I sure did," Axel muttered, finally picking himself up and throwing the infernally tangled bunch of blankets back onto the mattress. "Yes, that was me. All me." He sat on the bed, rubbed his forehead a little bit more, and blearily glanced at the clock. It was ten fifty eight, he'd been here for two days, and he was ready to just go home.

__

Ten minutes later he had properly fitted himself into his black suit; Axel had tried to bring his red one, the one that clashed horribly with his hair, but Reno would have none of it and nearly strangled him while fixing the tie. Reno had also been very near to simply taking his gardening shears and raking them through Axel's hair; Axel had locked himself into bathroom to avoid such a punishment and when Reno had threatened to break down the door, Axel had reminded him about the already broken bedroom door, which had cause Reno go on a tirade about how it was all Axel's fault, and Axel would be paying for the replacement, and Axel should probably just hurry the fuck up and tie his hair up before Reno slammed the edge of the shears through the door.

As a result they didn't depart until nearly twenty five minutes later, a full five minutes later than they were supposed to leave. Axel didn't bother pointing out the irony.

"Why don't you just _slick_ it back?" Reno asked, for what was probably the twelfth time, tapping on the steering wheel impatiently.

"What about yours?' Axel replied, stealthily attempting to loosen his tie without Reno noticing.

"I am the perfect picture of suave and secure," Reno nearly snorted, blasting through a red light and ignoring the honks from the other lanes of traffic. "I'm a ladies' man, babe. Trust me, I know how to dress myself. I look fly."

Axel sneaked a glance at him before rolling his eyes and again attempting to loosen his tie without A) strangling himself or B) Reno noticing and swatting him across the face. Not that Axel particularly feared Reno's girly little swats, but there was always that nagging fear that Reno would, for some godawful reason, take both hands off the steering wheel and end up careening into the next crowd of underaged school children on their way to the school festival. One could never tell with Reno, not even Axel, who had lived with him practically his entire life.

"You sure do," Axel said, before tightening the tie a final time and giving up, because he was going to end up killing himself this way. "You look way fly. I'd do you in a heartbeat."

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Reno's eyes glance suspiciously in his direction. "Do I have something on my nose? Is my hair sticking up?"

Axel shook his head and fanned himself with his hands. "Oh, heavens' no, of course not dear," he said, demurely and a bit sadly, "why would there be anything wrong with your face? I mean, your nose?"

Now Reno was yanking down his sun visor to get to the mirror underneath, and Axel immediately gripped his seatbelt with both hands, planting his feet firmly on the floor on the car and bracing himself for any impact within the next few seconds. It only took a quick second, though, and Reno was finished examining his face, now glaring over at him and taking his hand and swatting at his own cheek. Axel dodged best he could, but he was still in collision mode, and he felt most of the sting.

"God, you're worse than me," Reno growled, mostly to himself. "I don't know how they did it."

"Lots of Zoloft," Axel said, and there was a smirk in his voice. "Lots of Zoloft, and lots of liquor."

"Cut that out," Reno scoffed, signaling like a normal human being and turning into a mostly empty parking lot. "Oh good, we're on time."

Axel, again, chose not to point out the irony.

Reno parked, Axel said the standard thanks for arriving somewhere with his brother all in one piece, and got out of the car. The morning sun was hot and Axel tugged unconsciously at the tie, which seemed to magically tighten around his neck. It was now reaching the point of discomfort and he nearly asked Reno for help but he was stopped, however, by young woman coming their way. She had jet black hair, and an ample chest. Axel rolled his eyes and stepped back, letting Reno lead the way with that smile of his toward her.

"Tifa!" his brother greeted, his voice all sunshine. "It's good to see you!" He engulfed her in a hug and squeezed, Axel personally thinking he squeezed a little too tight for comfort but the smiling woman didn't appear to mind as she pulled back. Axel noticed that she, too, was dressed all in black, a very modest skirt and jacket getup, complete with the sunhat and the little veil. Classy, very classy.

"Good to see you too, Reno," Tifa said, "though I wish it were a different occasion." Her voice was sad, but brightened when her eyes seemed to land on Axel. Oh. No. She came bustling toward him, and Axel said another prayer, this time to come away unscathed and still breathing, as she smothered him in a hug. He hugged gently back, pretty sure she couldn't feel a thing with the way that she gripping him. "Oh, Axel. It's good to see you too. How's New York treating you? I already saw Aerith, and it's a shame Cloud couldn't make it, but, how's New York?"

Axel gave her his most winning smile, angling his head in what he hoped was an engaging manner. She had let go of him, at least, and he could breathe again. He saw Reno beyond her smiling face, his eyes narrowed and the jutting of his jaw clear. His hands were on hips and like Axel had always said, Reno was such a girl. Axel kept smiling, and said, "It's great. I love it. Always something to do and it's nice having Cloud and Aerith so close… though I'm thinking of moving near my aunt."

"Oh, dear, why?" Tifa sounded distressed and Axel capitalized and put his hand on her shoulder, shaking it in a very comforting way. Over her head, he saw Reno glaring.

"Nothing to worry about," he reassured her, letting his hand drop. "I think I just need a change of scenery, and Brooklyn had its charm for a bit, but I think I just nee to explore while I still can. You know, live what I can while I can, that sort of deal. Let the wind blow me where it may."

Tifa looked at him hard, and then smiled again, clasping it hand. "Well, I'm sure you'll do fine wherever you wind up." Over her head, Reno was making a sawing motion around his throat. "I'm sure your aunt will adore your company. You should use that adventurous spirit while you can. Sometimes it won't always be there." She let go of his hand and turned with a flurry of her hair, and Axel nearly went down with the weight of it but managed to keep his footing. She strolled ahead of them, smiling graciously at Reno and saying, "Your mom's this way. She's waiting for you."

As soon as she was past and focused directly on the church, Reno swooped around to Axel and grabbed his tie and yanked it. Axel tried to kick him in the knee but Reno was smarter and simply pulled him closer, whispered, "Back off, she's mine and I'll castrate you if you think any differently, babe," and pulled away, to walk at Tifa's side. Axel grasped frantically at his tie, trying to make a sound, something like "oh hey, I'm choking," but nothing escaped. He walked forward haphazardly, trying to bash into Reno's back so the jerk would turn around and help him, but Reno had taken a hold of Tifa's back and propelled her forward at a fast gait. Axel patted his pockets in a frenzy, thinking that his lighter was there, but nope, he'd not brought any cigarettes on this trip because he was a good boy, damnit, and good boys didn't smoke and he'd been chewing those damn Nicorete gums for the past two days and fuck, he was going to die and he had at least wanted to take a fuckng smoke before he kicked it, this was wrong.

"Uh, need some help, Axel?"

The quiet, sweet voice to his left attracted his attention and he turned oxygen deprived eyes in that direction, seeing more black, only this time, it was punctuated by pink flowers. It was Aerith, watching him with concerned eyes, her brown hair plaited back into a braid held together by a pink flowered tie. He was relieved and happy to see her, like he always was, though that thought was sort of put on hold by the fact that, well, you know, he was just about to fucking up and start croaking any second now, so he just nodded frantically and pointed at his throat.

Aerith, who lived with a business man and was quite good at domestic things, realized at once what was happening and zeroed in, taking the knot in her delicate fingers and loosening it carefully, little by little, until it hung limply around his neck. He sucked in air like he had just been oxygen deprived and again felt in his pockets, longing for a cigarette but not finding them, as he hadn't earlier.

"Thanks doll," he said, still slightly out of breath. "How embarrassing would that have been, suffocating on your own tie?"

Aerith smiled that small, sincere smile of hers and made a shushing noise. "Oh, it wouldn't have been too bad. I'm sure I could have come up with a better explanation for how you had went. Something very noble and heroic, so nobody would think any lesser of you. I might tell Reno, though," she teased, gently, and then said, noticing that his hands were again wistfully smoothing over his pockets, "and do you need a lighter? I think I can get one from someone."

"Oh, no," Axel said, shaking his head vehemently. "I don't smoke."

Aerith smiled a little insecurely. "You don't? When did you quit?"

"When I got on the plane to come here," Axel replied and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can't escape from Reno or any of them long enough for one. I don't know how I'll sneak away today but maybe I can play the role of grieving son, you know, say I need some time to myself and get out and get a pack. Maybe one of these old coots will have one and I can just steal it. I like that plan better."

She was still smiling uncertainly, before she said, "They don't know you smoke?"

"Reno and my grandparents? Of course they don't. I can't deal with that kind of pressure at these events, you understand, it would just absolutely kill me. No smoking for me, I'm as straight laced and Bible toting as they come, yessir…"

"Well, who knows," Aerith said, lightly, taking him by the shoulder and steering him toward the church, "maybe one of those little old men will be about to croak themselves and you can take their packs and their widows will write it off as charity."

That Aerith, she never missed a turn, no matter how innocent she looked.

"I like how you think," Axel said, "and that flower. I wanted to wear my red suit. Reno said it was uncouth."

"When did Reno learn such big words?" Aerith wondered, before saying, "You should have worn it anyway. Tifa tried to talk me out of the flowers but… your father would have wanted color, I think. I'm sure he'd be quite impressed if you had worn that red suit of yours."

"Who knows," Axel muttered, before raising his voice and saying, "Well, tell you what, let's make him a little happy, here." He carefully stretched out the already very loosened tie, pulled it up over his head, and was about to toss it into a passing trash can before remembering that it was Reno's and Reno was bound to start a tirade up in the middle of the eulogy if he found out that his little brother had tossed his tie. Bad idea. He stuffed it into his pocket instead, smirking lazily at Aerith. "There. I'm a rebel now."

"Truly," Aerith agreed, intertwining their arms as they approached the entrance of the church. "You with no tie and me with my pink flowers, we're just the best rebels in this whole church." She gave that delicate, tinkly little laugh that Axel loved so much and he grinned at her fondly, a smile that not many saw nowadays. Aerith had always been the sister he'd never been born with—he'd been stuck with Reno instead, who was about as great as a box of rocks most days, though some days he did end up achieving the status of doorknobs, which Axel personally thought was always quite an improvement, as doorknobs were actually useful.

They reached the doors and Axel reached out courteously and opened the door for her; she smiled and went in first, casting him a backward glance as she headed directly for the alter, where a slight crowd was forming. Axel watched her very graceful walk for a moment, before turning back around to look up at the sky, which was still blazing. Not very apt, he thought, not for a funeral, especially not his father's, though he was sure that many would be in the opposite of that opinion and agree that a sunny day was a perfect requiem for such a sunny personality. Personally, Axel would have preferred a downpour. Even hale. A hurricane would even be sufficient but the golden sunshine and warm air hadn't been figured into his estimate. Go figure.

A quick glance up the long aisle revealed that his grandparents were gazing down in his direction, and now Tifa and Reno and Aerith and his stepmom were gazing back in his direction too, and he quickly looked back in the sky, as though fascinated by the sun. Hands ran absently over his pockets yet again, and he wished he had a cigarette. If anything, that might make this better. If anything, that might make this bearable. Not that he was particularly worried about himself, but he knew his grandmother would be crying, and his stepmom would be sobbing, and even Tifa would be making those sniffling noises and dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, which he sure Reno would be ever so helpful in providing. Aerith would endure with a quiet, calm dignity, he was sure. But god knew if his aunts and his uncles and assorted other relatives and coworkers and other damn people would keep their mouths shut.

Axel could handle funerals. Axel could handle dead people, and he could handle setting things on fire, and he could handle assault and airplanes and the damn bunk bed and Reno, but be damned if he could stand a church full of poor sobbing women crying about something that couldn't even be changed anymore.

"Axel!"

He pretended not to hear and tried to slide the door to the church closed.

"AXEL! YOU GODDAMN LITTLE PRICK, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE BEFORE I FLAY YOU WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR LIFE."

Grinning, Axel turned around to greet an angry Reno, who was scrabbling for his tie and didn't seem to have realized that had had practically screamed profanity at his little brother in a church that now contained approximately fourteen senior citizens, eight women, two priests, and a dead body. He also didn't seem to realize that Axel had ditched his tie, because his fingers closed around the collar of Axel's shirt and he was yanked forward, into the church, by that.


	2. Part 2

Title: This Frenzied State [2/?]  
Rating: M  
Genre: Drama/romance  
Pairing: Axel/Roxas (AU)  
Warnings: Abuse of miscellaneous Final Fantasy characters. Seriously. Any mischaracterization is obviously all my fault.  
Summary: When Roxas stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see into some eternity. When Axel stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see how he'd survive a fourteen floor fall.  
Author's Notes: Warning applies directly to this chapter. Concrit encouraged. Sorry this took so long, next part shouldn't be so long.

* * *

"What are you, twelve?" Reno hissed. "You're upsetting Grandma and my mom! Show some respect! Where the fuck is your tie?"

"Calm down Turbo, it's in my pocket," Axel said, quietly, reassuringly. "I didn't toss it, though you know, I wanted to."

"Why'd you take it off?" Reno had let go of his collar and was instead dragging him by arm now, though he had loosened his grip and slowed his pace when he realized that the congregation—aha—at the alter was watching them approach.

"Because you almost suffocated me in it and I didn't want to take any more chances," Axel replied pleasantly. "I'm surprised you looked away from Tifa's boobs to notice, though. That's classy of you."

"Will you shut up?!"

Axel smiled brightly at his older brother, shook his arm free, and went to greet his grandparents, who appeared a little dazed at his arrival. His grandmother was particularly loathe to let him go, and his grandfather whispered that if there was anything he needed, all he had to do was ask. He tried to keep his expression in a state that was somewhere between sad, remorseful, determined, strong, graceful, concerned, and handsome all at the same time, but he wasn't sure if he had down right, that is, until he came to his stepmother, who he tried to greet as warmly as he could.

"Axel," she said, coolly, accepting the peck on the cheek and the one armed hug. "So nice of you to join us. I was afraid you weren't going to make it."

The smile he put on his face, he knew, was probably as fake as Tifa's breasts. "Nope, wouldn't miss this party for the world." He could tell from the knives he felt in the back of his neck that what he'd just said was probably the wrong thing, so he revised and said, "Of course I wouldn't miss my own father's funeral. That's just crazy."

"Well," Angela said, still in that same cool tone, gazing up at him with a look that was almost scornful, "we all know that's you to a tee, so no putting that past you. Wouldn't put anything past you really." Axel opened his mouth to reply to the thinly veiled insult, but before he could she had already turned to Tifa to say something, probably something as brilliant as, "Hey, my boobs are fake too!" He smiled at her back and wondered if Reno would see him flipping off his mom. Probably. Resigned, he turned around and fled to Aerith's side, safely out of reach of both Reno and Angela. Quite proud of himself for not succumbing to pressure, he looked for a place to sit, away from the melee that was now taking place around the altar. A few people were starting to trickle in, some taking seats and others crossing the distance to give their condolences to the family.

"Can we sit down?" he whispered to Aerith, watching his grandparents thank someone very cordially for their condolences and gift of flowers.

"No, you need to go to the door and thank them for coming," she whispered back, watching another couple place a wreath next to the closed coffin, something that Axel hadn't really paid any attention to before. "Reno didn't tell you?"

"Nope," Axel replied, and tried to edge in behind her, though that probably didn't work out too well, seeing as he probably had a good ten inches on her. "But that's okay, his fault, let's sit down."

"Axel, you—"

He'd already grabbed her and forcefully yanked her down onto the front pew, trying to duck behind a sea of black and navy gray legs. "I don't even know any of these people, Aerith," he said, licking his lips. "Most of them probably don't even know me. They'll all probably think I'm some sort of distant cousin, which is fine with me. Please don't say anything? I'll steal some of those flowers for you after we're down. What a waste of money," he trailed off, looking as another wreath was placed near the coffin, "when we could be donating that, or you know, using it or something…"

"Flowers are worth it," Aerith said defiantly, and Axel cowered, convinced she was going to give up the ghost, but she just sighed and said, "Fine. You're right. They're making their way in anyway and if Reno didn't tell you anything then maybe he has a different plan anyway. I think you're supposed to be sitting here anyway." She flipped the card at the end of the aisle up, reading the lettering upside down and said, "Yep. This is for immediate family. So you and Reno and your stepmom and your grandparents and your aunts and uncle probably will be sitting here."

"Just shoot me now," Axel muttered, sinking as far into the chair as he could go. "I suppose if I had a lighter I could find some gasoline and douse myself with it and then light myself on fire and that would be a cool spectacle, you know, the best funeral ever, complete with the walking flame of death. I could take some of the candles over at that little altar, that uh, that one right there for that lady…"

"I'm lost on that too," Aerith said thoughtfully, gazing at the painting. "I'm more of a Buddhist than anything. Though all religions are beautiful and right in their own way," she added, as though she was contemplating the idea. "Really, they are. I mean, wouldn't the idea of a great mother earth that has branches in—"

"Spare me Aerith, spare me," Axel interrupted, trying to sink down further as he saw that Reno was now searching over bodies, as though seeking out something specific. Axel had a funny idea of what that was and wished he could shrink an inch, because even sinking as far as he could, he was still only a little bit past Aerith's shoulder. "Here, engage me in some meaningful conversation that doesn't involve religion. Let's talk about global warming!"

There was a very perplexed frown on Aerith's face as she smoothed out one of her bangs. "Oh, so you believe in global warming, do you?" she asked, a smile tugging at one corner of her frown. "Last I checked you were saying that you thought all of it was a lie."

"Was I wasted at the time?" Axel squeaked, seeing Reno nodding and moving past bodies in their general direction. "I probably was, wasn't I? That would probably explain the entire lie thing, you know, I get paranoid when I drink, just a side effect of the alcohol, nothing to worry about, promise."

"Right, right," she said, the smile still tugging at her lips. "So, why don't you want to sit here?"

"Because I don't want to sit next to her!" he hissed, practically on the floor now. "Or to any of them either! Can't I just stand over by that painting we couldn't figure out and pray and give my you know, thanks there?"

"Thanks? What would you be giving thanks for? Certainly you're not happy your father's dead." Now her smile was completely mischievous, as she glanced around and saw that Reno was making a beeline directly for their spot.

"You just can't quit woman," Axel moaned, straightening up as Reno finally approached them, his hand again going automatically to Axel's throat. Axel went along like a puppet, starting to get used to being treated like an eight year old with one of those leashes tied around their torsos like a dog, though Axel's situation was probably worse, since he was actually getting pulled by his neck.

"You're supposed to be outside greeting people!" Reno hissed, again baring his teeth like he was some type of attack rabbit. "I told you!"

"Uh, not really," Axel volunteered, but Reno was already leading him through the mess of people toward the doors.

"Yes I did," Reno huffed, "and now we have people not knowing where to go and that's your fault. Just stand there and tell them to take a seat, because we're running behind on the ceremony starting and we'll greet them afterward, before we go to the cemetery. Got it? Think you can handle it?"

"I have it memorized, thanks."

"Little sassmouth," Reno muttered, bodily placing him at the entrance where he'd dragged him from only twenty minutes prior. "Tidus is going to be up here to help you as soon as he gets here, so don't worry, you won't have to deal with it all by your little lonesome, I know that would be hard for you."

"Who's Tidus?"

"Our cousin? Hello? Earth to Axel, wake up."

"Oh, your cousin," Axel said helpfully, pulling his arm away. "Your cousin Tidus."

Reno gave him a long look, and then glowered at him and said, "i_Our_/i cousin Tidus. Deal with it and then we'll come get you when the ceremony starts and you're sitting in that front row between me and Grandma."

"Oh well, thank god for small blessings."

"Fuck off." Reno cuffed him on the shoulder hard, in a very brotherly fashion, and then went back up the aisle. Axel considered running out the door and to Reno's car to try and hotwire it. Maybe he could say he was valet and take one of the old peoples' cars and go get a box of cigarettes. Or maybe he could just start driving back to New York. Wait, hadn't he gotten a completely changeable ticket? Hadn't that been what that Roxas kid had said? That Roxas kid who had been oh so ever helpful, but oh so ever hostile? Axel wondered about him, because he'd sounded in an absolutely terrible mood and as far as Axel was concerned, the only people in absolutely terrible moods were those people who really had nothing left to live for. Even Reno never got into absolutely terrible moods. Reno just got pissy. There were significant differences in the entire scheme of moods and being in an absolutely terrible mood was one of the worst.

"Oh, you must be Reno, Takeshi's son."

At first Axel didn't realize that the white-haired man with the walking cane was talking to him, until he was nearly completely in his face. "I can recognize you by the hair," the old man chuckled. "Takeshi had the most vibrant red hair in his youth, and you have it in you too, Reno. I am sorry for your loss."

"We do accept your condolences sir," Axel responded, promptly and with just the right hint of remorse. "I'm Axel, though. Not Reno."

"Huh?"

"My name's Axel. A-X-E-L."

"Axel? Who're you then?"

Axel opened his mouth, bit his lip, and then smiled, a little painfully. "Just a cousin sir. Just a cousin."

"Ah well, you have the family hair then." A wide smile split his lips and oh, Axel did i_not/i_ need to see what he had left of his teeth. "Still so sorry for your loss, must be very tragic, on the kid and the wife and you too, of course."

"Of course," Axel said smoothly, "now, we're running a little bit behind schedule, so if you could just take a seat in a row that isn't specifically marked off, the rest of the family will come and meet you later, okay?"

"Thanks for your help," the man said, going down the aisle. "See you later then."

_iIf that's what helps you sleep at night, sure, why not?/i_

The next twelve people mistook him for Reno and he corrected each of them gently, though none of them seemed to know who Axel was, except for the last. After the thirteenth he went ahead with whomever they thought he was; most of them thought he was Reno; there was one batty old hag who thought he was Alfred, whoever the fuck that was. Tidus, Reno's cousin, showed up about halfway through and took the other end, which gave Axel leeway to do whatever he pleased. By the time most of the church was seated, most, if not all, took him for Reno, Takeshi's true son, and by the time Axel was seated, he had a lot more to smirk about. Reno asked him how everything had gone and Axel had replied that it had all gone smoothly, without a hitch, and everything was just fine, just fine.

There were a lot of church readings, a recap of Takeshi Stone's life that glossed over a certain period of years that included those of Axel's birth and childhood, and a triumphant ending that concluded that Takeshi Stone had been a great businessman, a loving husband, a brilliant father, and a generous, good man. By the time the gifted pastor had stepped down for the family to speak and the eulogy to be given, there weren't many dry eyes in the house and Axel wanted to shoot himself in the head and had swiveled around twice to look back at Aerith, who was trying to remain composed. Like he'd expected, his stepmother and grandparents had all sobbed, and just as he'd predicted, even Tifa had sniffled and dabbed at her eyes, which earned her a "cheer up little camper" smile from Reno. And just as he predicted, Aerith's eyes were a little watery, but her posture was still sharp and composed. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and then he pantomimed shooting himself in the head which offended the three ladies on either side of Aerith, Tifa included. He turned back around quickly, a little put out.

His stepmother spoke, his grandmother spoke, his uncle, an aunt, and then Reno stood to give the eulogy, because Axel had refused, flatly, to speak anything. There had been some heated discussion in the family about that, Reno had said, about Axel saying anything and about who would give the eulogy. Before Axel could even express his opinion on whether he wanted to speak or not, Reno had launched into a conversation about the epic fight between himself and his mother about Axel speaking; apparently there had been tears shed, threats of being disowned, mentions of unspeakable actions in the past, and most curiously, something about a pigeon. Reno had apparently fought long and hard, though the long bloody night, for Axel to be able to say anything at the funeral and he had, by the very triumphant look on his face, wrested that right away from his mother. He had looked smug and yes, very triumphant, though Axel wasn't sure if that was because he'd, for once in his life, won an argument against his mother or because he'd won Axel the right to speak. Axel had listened to his tirade calmly—Reno never allowed many opportunities to butt in any of his tirades—and then calmly told Reno that if he expected him to speak, then Reno might as well be waiting around for the Rapture, because Axel was a showman and Axel liked talking, some thought more than he liked breathing, but be i_damned/i_ if he opened his mouth at his father's funeral.

Reno's bad mood over the whole denial of his triumph was probably the reason that he'd broken his own door in the morning but Axel would never dare say anything about that.

In any case, Reno went to up to the pulpit and stood, looking uncertainly out at the crowd and for once in his life, Axel wasn't able to tell if his brother was actually nervous or if he was pretending to look nervous for modesty. It could be either of the options, so Axel watched him closely. He supposed that speaking at your father's funeral must be a little hard; in the tirade about letting Axel speak, Reno had also touched on the heated topic of who would give the eulogy. Their uncle Tseng had wanted to give it—big, black-haired Tseng, who had been absent from much of their lives, focused more intently on his work, just as his brother had been. His wife had always been around, because she had gotten along great with Angela, but Tseng, no. He'd never been close at all, and one of Axel's earliest memories had been a great smack across the face from Tseng, though his stepmother had also been involved and sometimes, maybe his mother. But Angela, though united on that front, that front that involved the smacking, had stubbornly refused to let Tseng speak the eulogy, just as stubbornly as she'd fought to not let Axel speak. Angela was fiercely proud of Reno, something that baffled Axel most times—that was a mother's love he'd never known, but whatever the case, they had been able to convince the family to let Reno speak. Tseng had been granted the opportunity to speak in any case, and his speech had been as close to a eulogy as you could get, though it was really just a recapping of the sermon the preacher had already given. Axel looked around at the candles by the painting he and Aerith had been unable to name, and he wondered if, by powers of telepathy, he could set the church on fire so none of them would have to let Reno, for the third time, recap their father's great, joyous, wondrous, fantastic life.

Reno was still surveying the crowd, as though he was afraid, and then he cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone, his hesitant voice not very good music to Axel's ears. Axel lowered his eyes, looking at the casket, which was open now but raised on the dalais, so that nobody could see inside at the moment. He reckoned that Reno could though, from the raised spot on the pulpit, and Axel pitied him for that, because he sure as hell wouldn't want to be making a speech about your dead dad when your dead dad was sitting right there, dead.

He attempted to refocus on what his brother was saying. Reno seemed to have come into his stride, and was speaking with appropriate pauses and appropriate emphasis on certain words. There wasn't anything new in this speech that hadn't already been said before, but Reno was focusing more on the family aspect, and it occurred to Axel that he should be paying attention to what Reno was saying about that, because who knows, Axel might get mentioned. Angela had probably written the speech for Reno and fine combed it already and had probably cut out any mention of him, but that was fine, because Axel was used to not existing in public functions. He remembered the prank that he'd played at the doors, saying that he was Reno, and he smirked a little, though it was more of just a little smile, wondering if those old people were scratching their hands and wondering what the fuck was going on.

He finally picked up on what Reno was saying, picking up on the line, "He was a great father. My brother and I couldn't have had a better."

That caught his attention, and he straightened up a little more, casting a sly glance over at Angela, whose face had tightened up a little, though she still kept her dewy eyed look.

"I remember one time," Reno said, and his voice had turned a little nostalgic, and he seemed to be looking more into space than at any point in the audience, "when it was me and my dad and my brother and he took us over to the zoo, the LA Wildlife Park. You guys know how that is, am I right? Amazingly huge, am I right? Right. So it was just us, a boys' day, and I remember we lost Axel." Reno's eyes seemed to focus, and he was looking at Axel intently, and Axel shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do, before Reno went back to staring into space. "And Dad, he just flipped his shit. Sorry, sorry, he just freaked out. I mean, I was like nine at the time so Axel was like six and I didn't care. I was like, oh good riddance, more stuff for me. I think I even asked Dad that if we didn't find him if I could have his room." Reno chuckled right there, and paused, and seemed to look over the audience, who was murmuring an obligatory chuckle as well. His eyes stopped on his mother, on Axel, and then went back up into the air.

"And I think Dad hit me, not hard you know, just like a, come to your senses, you idiot kind of smack." He chuckled again and this time Axel heard a few real chuckles amidst the fake. "And so we went racing through the park and we're like, oh crap, where were we last? And then we remembered, oh yea, Axel was really fond on those penguins." He smiled again, smirking into the crowd now, before he smirked directly at Axel. Axel, hopelessly lost and not remembering any of this, immediately shook his head and smirked back, because it was all he knew how to do at the moment.

"So, we ran back to the penguins and he wasn't there. So we flipped our shit—well Dad did, like I said, I was only nine, cut me some slack—and Dad seriously starting freaking out. He grabbed some security guy and screamed at him and they nearly had to restrain him. Meanwhile, I'm chilling out on the side, being embarrassed by my screaming dad and all, you know, being a cool nine year old, and who do I see? There's Axel, just sitting there in the shade of some tree by the penguins, sitting there cool as shit. Just like, oh hey guys. I'm over here. Why didn't you see me? I considered not pointing him out because honestly, I wanted his room and what have you, but I played the good little brother role and Dad swooped him up and I think smacked him around good too. You know how that goes."

More chuckles, and this time they were real ones.

"And well, I've always remembered that, even if I've forgotten a lot from being little. I remember how freaked out my dad was about losing him, and how scared he was and as shitty as it sounds, I remember that and I'm like, wow, he really loves him. And I knew he loved me just as much and I've just always remembered that. That as great as he was as a man and a friend and a husband and a businessman and as a great donator to a number of good causes, I always remember that he was my dad, our dad, and he would have done anything for us." Reno paused, his voice a little shaky, and then he looked at Axel, and Axel, for the first time since he'd been in Los Angeles, smiled at him genuinely, almost a little encouragingly, and then he smirked. Reno laughed then, a clear, free sound, and continued, "And while I'm not so sure finding that little punk was a good thing, I'm glad we did. Because yea, that's stayed with me forever. He was a great guy and I'm proud, and I'm sure Axel is too, to be his son. Thank you."

There was dead silence in the room and Axel wondered if he was supposed to clap enthusiastically or nod solemnly or just attempt to keep his face the same stoic he'd kept it the entire midday. There were murmurings in the back, but no clapping, so Axel restrained himself, even when Reno took the seat by his side again. Axel fancied that the old geezers in the back, the ones who he'd happily told that he was Reno, realized what had happened or if they were completely freaked out because as far as Axel was concerned, most people thought that he and Reno were twins or at least eerily similar cousins. They both had emerald green eyes, were thin and lanky and had far too much length on both their arms and legs, and of course, the flaming red hair that Axel could never tame, though Reno was a lot more successful in that department. He figured anyone sitting behind would be pretty surprised at the two sitting there, side by side. He wouldn't blame them.

Reno was sitting there, contently, and seemed to be ignoring the scathing looks his mother was shooting down their way. Apparently the grieving, calm mask she'd worn through the eulogy was gone and she hadn't been able to control it any longer. Axel wanted to turn his head and smirk at her, and smirk long and hard, but he wouldn't dare. Reno might have defied her orders and her speech, but he wouldn't take him talking bad about her. He had taken punishments to prove it.

When the pastor got back up to dismiss the congregation to make the way over to the cemetery, Axel leaned over a little awkwardly, raised his eyebrows, and said as softly as he could, " Did you try to choke me in my crib too?"

"Fuck off," Reno said, and he said it loudly, just like he said everything, and he immediately offered a big, bright smile to everyone around them. Axel couldn't restrain himself and laughed, just as loudly as Reno had said it, and then Reno was laughing too and they were laughing like idiots, the pair of them, sitting there side by side and seemingly unable to stop. i_This is obviously too cliché/i, _Axel thought, gripping the seat of the pew and trying to hold the back the sounds rumbling up from his throat, i_but god help me./i_ There was awkward silence around them, as they both ceased their fit, and he could tell by the red on Reno's face that his brother was absolutely embarrassed. Axel spared a moment to look around and realized that the church was dead silent, the pastor was up on the pulpit, staring directly at them, and that nothing else was moving.

Axel shrugged carelessly in Angela's direction, grinned at Reno, and slumped back in his seat, back to where he'd been before this whole fiasco had occurred. He'd get hell for this later. Reno would come to his senses. Start blaming the entire thing on him. Threaten to disown him. Kick him in the knees. Just like always and then everything would be okay, just like it usually was.

Mostly always. Sometimes not.

The pastor finally started speaking, commanding the congregation to rise, with instructions about the ride to the cemetery, where Takeshi Stone would be buried in all his stately and proud glory with his ancestors, right inside the family plot that mostly took the entire right half of the Santa Clara cemetery. There were slots already specifically set aside for Angela and Reno and for Axel, too, even if Axel wasn't exactly included on many other things. They'd be burying him there, just as they'd buried his grandfathers and other people who had at one time been important and were now just dead. His grandmother would probably start weeping as the casket was lowered. Angela would probably sob the loudest, demanding attention as she always did, shaking. Reno would comfort her. An uncle, maybe Tseng. Someone would and they'd lower the casket and they'd all throw in flowers and then they'd go and have a magnificent meal and everything would be buried and under.

Axel's flight back to New York was booked for tomorrow at nine in the morning.

He wondered if he could get it changed for tonight instead.

__

Sitting in a retirement home, holding two things that were not needles but shaped and pointed almost suspiciously at such, should not be such an ordeal. Retirement homes were supposed to be places for retirement, for such lovely crafts as this, for making these yards and yards of string into some sort of blanket or maybe if one was daring, even a hat. Someone should not be standing next to his chair and screaming into his ear.

"ROXAS LISTEN TO ME YOU NEED TO JUST TAKE THE NEEDLE AND GO THROUGH THE LOOP, THE LOOP, DARLING, THE LOOP, LOOK, WATCH ME."

She seized his hands in her own and Roxas shivered at the cold in her skin, and the sagginess of the touch. He couldn't help it—old people freaked him out. He knew the argument and knew, in his head, that if he was able to keep certain impulses out of his mind—certain impulses having to do with, oh say, a roof—that he one day, too, would have the utmost joy of cold skin and saggy skin around the finger joints.

But currently he was young and not exactly the best at keeping the roof impulse out of his system, so as he listened to the lady talk, he thought of gravestones and flowers.

That was politically incorrect somewhere, but currently not in his own brain.

Misty was a peach, or at least, apparently she had been in some other lifetime—sometimes he swore that she could have been seventeen, because when Roxas had first starting volunteering here, she had batted her eyes at him, made perverse, inappropriate jokes, and followed him around everywhere, claiming that her brain was addled and that she thought he was her grandson, please forgive her, please forgive her, he looked exactly like her dead grandson. He'd been embarrassed, and a little bit sad for her because honestly, who resisted a sob story like that? She had steadfastly followed him around for nearly a month, switching from a coy—an overly noticeable coy—demeanor, with flirty little fingers and batty little eyelashes, to a demeanor of solemnity, hands folded her in her lap and eyes downcast as she regarded him mournfully. Sometimes she would be enthusiastic that her boy was back, that he was alive, and other times she would talk to him like he was dead and talking about all that she was experiencing in her life and how much he had missed and how much she missed him. She never broke down in tears, her face solemn and steadfast, and Roxas always got little shivers up his spine when she talked like that.

It was about the third month into his sojourn here that Misty's doctor had taken him aside, smiled at him gently, and told him that Misty had been a theatre major, her grandson was in fact, not dead and visited every Sunday, and while Roxas looked very much like him, Misty knew quite well that Roxas wasn't him but Misty had told the doctor, privately, that she thought Roxas was a cute young man and couldn't resist flirting with him.

From then on Roxas alternated to pity for Misty, pity for himself for being fooled by a seventy four year old woman, and pity for Misty's grandson, because if Roxas looked a lot like him, he sure as hell didn't want to know what kind of inappropriate advances she made on him.

"Listen, grandma, I can do it myself," Roxas said crossly, snatching his fingers back out of hers, attempting to untangle the yarn that was beginning to angle up suspiciously.

"Hey grandkid, you look here, I know what I'm doing and you don't!" Misty again, as fiercely as she could without making the whole thing come undone, tried to pry the crochet needle out of his hands but as Roxas was much younger, stronger, faster, and stupider, he held on, looking at her balefully. "You're going to mess it up and then the pretty young miss you're making this for is just going to cry about it. What kind of present is that?"

"Who said I was making it for a young miss?" Roxas successfully tugged it back out of her cold hands and moved over in his seat, away from her. "Listen grandma, I can make my own damn blanket and I don't need your help, alright?"

"Suit yourself," Misty said, humming to herself and looking at him pointedly, "but when your young miss gets this and doesn't appreciate it, don't come running to me—"

"Just because it's _pink_ does not make it for a young miss! It's not _my_ fault you took all the other colored yarn."

"Am I to believe my grandson doesn't have a good job and can't afford his own yarn?"

"Why would I want to buy yarn?"

"Because you're gay and like to touch men?"

"Oh, I am through with this," Roxas muttered, standing up and tossing the yarn and the crochet needles back onto the seat he'd just vacated. "You, grandmother, need to reign yourself in."

"Oh, don't go off and sulk now," Misty cooed, already snatching up the fallen needles and yarn. "I know you don't like to touch men. I didn't raise my grandson queer. Not that there's anything wrong with that, darling. I just want you to be happy. If you like to touch men, you go right ahead and you touch them and don't let anyone stop you! I won't stand for it, grandson! Won't stand for it, do you hear me? Won't stand for it!"

"The whole universe hears you, woman," Roxas sighed, looking at the clock and dejectedly returning to his seat. He still had half an hour left here. Was this roof locked? Probably. Padlocked at that. If Misty were one of the saner ones here, he didn't know want to know what the insane looked like.

"Lunch," said a voice from the door, and Roxas jumped up immediately, startled when he saw that it was Yuffie, carrying a tray full of such appetizing foods as foamy potatoes, limp carrots, a deflated sandwich, and a more orange than yellow cup of tapioca, along with a box of apple juice to wash it all down and a no calorie, fat free, tasteless cookie for dessert. The classiest retirement home in all of America, right here.

"Early?" Roxas asked, not daring to believe Yuffie was actually standing there, holding that magical tray already.

"Not too much, we just knew Misty got an early start on her day so we should go ahead and bring her lunch already," Yuffie said brightly, nearly skipping over to Misty's bed, putting the tray on her bed tray. "Hey Mist, get up! Come on now! Hurry! It'll get cold!"

Misty was looking at Yuffie with something of an intense dislike on her face. Roxas had seen it a few times before, particularly where Yuffie was concerned, probably because Yuffie was a bit too dense to notice it. Yuffie was, for all intents and purpose, a knockout, even Roxas had to admit. Roxas had contemplated long and hard about whether Misty was jealous or envious or just plain upset that Yuffie was always the one who seemed to interrupt their meeting time, something Roxas was always insanely grateful for and something Misty seemed to lose sleep over.

One could never win any battle in life anymore it seemed.

"It's already cold," the old redhead said disdainfully, pulling herself out of the chair gently and shoving the mess of yarn at Roxas. "Here, grandkid, go ahead and finish that. I'll expect it when you visit next. I expect to see progress or there will be punishment. No television for you."

"Yes, grandmother," Roxas said lamely, smiling at her, then at Yuffie, and then said, "Well, I know you don't like me watching you eat—"

"A woman should never let a man see her eat ungracefully!"

"Like I said, I know you—"

"A woman should never let a man see her fall, or trip, or spill some tapioca on her dress! Never!"

"I understand and that's why—"

"Never, Roxas, never! That's why you need to go!"

A thick padlock, probably. Maybe even one of those fancy ones that had an electric current running through it.

"Yes, ma'am,' Roxas said, grabbing his backpack and stuffing the yard haphazardly into it, which brought a palpable wince from Misty. "I'll see you in a few days, okay?"

"Alright, grandkid," Misty said mournfully, "come on and give grandma a hug."

Roxas, after many months now of practice and diligence, restrained the wince that nearly shuddered through his shoulders and went gamely forward to embrace her frail body, holding as lightly and softly as he could. "See you later, grandma," he said, flashed two fingers in a farewell to Yuffie, and shrugged into his jacket and took off out the door down the hall, toward the reception desk.

"Where are you going?"

The voice was steely and Roxas winced, hard, probably a combination of the wince now and the wince he'd successfully repressed in saying goodbye to Misty.

"Misty's eating," he said, brightly, and turned around to face Vexen, who was the head doctor around here and in charge of Roxas's tenure. What he was doing in a nursing home, Roxas had no idea, because the man suited the description of an evil scientist more than he fit the description of a man caring for a bunch of people who drooled on themselves. He often speculated that Vexen had dropped out of neurology school, or had made a horribly failed science experiment in his basement, or had accidentally killed a man in Russia—or not so accidentally—and fled to the States to escape punishment.

"And?" Vexen said coolly, looking up pointedly at the large clock on the wall about the reception desk. "I believe you still have thirty more minutes left of your stay today."

"She doesn't like watching me watching her eat," Roxas said, shrugging. "Says a man shouldn't see a woman be ungraceful. Dr. Yamil lets me go early when that happens so—"

"Do I look like Dr. Yamil?" Vexen was looking at him very severely, his eyebrows arched unsympathetically. Roxas had always pegged him for the guy who had turned in his friends for copying off his test in kindergarten. His friends or his enemies, because Roxas could hardly understand anybody being friends with this guy.

"No, of course not, I was just under the impression—"

"You thought wrong, now go and—"

"Sir," said a quiet voice to the side, "Miss Chambers needs you immediately."

"For what?" Vexen snapped, not even turning to look at Selphie.

"Says she's about to kill herself," Selphie said calmly, "and you probably shouldn't let her die because she pays your bills, or something like that."

Vexen sighed furiously, and glared at Roxas. "Don't let me catch you sneaking off like that again or I'll report to the court my findings."

"Yes, sir," Roxas replied to where he had been standing, because he had gone off at a fast gait down the hall. Selphie was trailing behind him, but she smiled him and gave him a thumbs up sign. He smiled at her gratefully and took off toward the elevator. The elevator only went up to the sixth floor.

Seven floors would probably only leave him paralyzed, anyway, and he did not look forward to spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair answering phone calls for a very unappreciative airline.

When he got to the lobby of the hospital he retrieved his skateboard and took off, rolling along at a steady pace until he reached the office. Sunnydale didn't have many things going for it—the name being the primary one—but it was big into efficiency and putting things together very compactly. He went inside, put the skateboard into his locker, along with his jacket, spun the wheel an extra four times, punched in, and successfully evaded Demyx on the way to his desk. Things were starting to look up for this day. He'd escaped Misty early, Demyx was probably in the process of being late or getting fired, and nobody had fucked up anything too badly. It smelled like rain, the weather was nice, and fall was starting to turn the leaves different colors.

In a mood that he dared describe as almost pleasant, he put on his headset and logged into the system, pulling up the necessary screens. There wasn't an immediate call, and three minutes later he was beginning to hope, even pray, that today was going to be a good day.

The first call flashed on his screen four minutes later and he answered, very vibrantly and nearly even decently, "Rogart Airlines, Roxas Hart, we offer the best and lowest—"

"Well," interrupted the voice on the other end, "what are the odds?"


	3. Part 3

Title: This Frenzied State [3/?]  
Rating: M  
Genre: Drama/romance  
Pairing: Axel/Roxas (AU)  
Warnings: Abuse of miscellaneous Final Fantasy characters. Seriously. Any mischaracterization is obviously all my fault.  
Summary: When Roxas stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see into some eternity. When Axel stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see how he'd survive a fourteen floor fall.

A/N: Puttering along here. I should give myself a schedule and stick to it. I don't actually divide this is into parts until I post a new one but for anyone keeping track, the end of this part is page 40 out of 151 (still unfinished) on my computer. That doesn't really say much at all, does it? /keeping track

By the way, Axel's phone is a Sidekick LX. It's not at all important but it's a fun fact? And also, entire funeral sequence is sort of out of my own head. I've been wonderfully lucky and have never been to a funeral. I gleaned from television and made up my own version. Sorry if it clashes with what's usual.

* * *

"You know you pissed her off," Axel remarked, cracking his neck and flipping through the contacts on his cell phone.

"Who?'

"Your mom."

"Too easy."

"You know, the whole acting smug about the "your mom" joke doesn't work when I'm actually talking about your mom."

"Oh, forgot the memo." Reno slammed on the brakes for what seemed like the millionth time since they'd left the church and made a noise in his throat. "Remind me to never drive in a funeral procession again."

"Duly noted. If it's not for my own I'll be glad to tell you because I'll be glad to feel like I'm not about to die." Axel tightened his grip on the seatbelt and closed his eyes. "You should have just let me ride with Aerith."

"Listen punk, just because you've had a crush on her since you were twelve—"

"Oh please. Tifa's boobs are so fake."

Reno slammed on the brakes and Axel nearly went hurtling into the dashboard but the hand on the seatbelt and the one on the door had been enough to prevent the collision between his head and the cheaply made plastic. It wasn't enough to stop Reno's hand from knocking into the side of his face, and wasn't enough to prevent his head from going into the glass, making a dull noise that was lost in the squealing of tires behind them.

"Nice one," Axel muttered, rubbing his head, gently working his fingers over the bump that was slowly forming over the spot of collision with both the glass and the bed earlier in the morning. "Very nice."

"Don't make me hit you again," Reno threatened, rolling slowly to a start again.

"Are we there yet?" Axel said, boredly.

"No, and what the fuck are you doing with your phone?"

"Looking for a contact. Generally you make phone calls with your phone. At least, that's what I do."

"Well aren't you pleasant. Who are you looking for?"

"Stop prying into my life, mom."

"You have a life? Sorry, I wasn't aware."

"Grow up." Axel finally found the number he'd called earlier and hit green dial button. "You figure we got like what, twelve or so hours before we get there?"

"Oh, fuck off. It's not my fault."

"Way to get defensive. Stop being so emo, I wasn't blaming you, everything isn't your fault, it's okay." Axel punched buttons as the automated service read them off to him, attempting to follow both the machine lady as well as Reno's annoying voice.

"You talk too much. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

"No. Enlighten me?"

"Why didn't we put you on Ritalin?"

"Ritalin? Is that candy?"

"It can be, asshole. Who're you calling, your boyfriend?"

"Yours, maybe."

"So, Tifa totally digs me."

"Dream on. She feels sorry for you."

"Listen, punk, unlike you I don't need people to feel sorry for me to score dates. She totally digs me."

"Totally?"

"Totally."

"Totally?"

"Fuck off before I kill you. I was trying to make good conversation with you, little bro. Can't we talk about a super hot chick?"

"They're so fake, Reno." Axel cowered, expecting a blow, but Reno just laughed as he accidentally clicked on another button and a voice answered, "Wakka Fett, International at Rogert—"

"Like Jango Fett?" Axel interrupted, raising a hand and trying to silence Reno's hollow laugh.

"I'm sorry?"

"You know, _Star Wars? _Jango Fett? Boba Fett? They were the bounty hunters and they were cool as shit. I mean, they were the _shit._ Tell me you know them, Wakka man. I mean, I've had to live life with this boring name and you have got to have at least lived this name up a little, right?"

Silence.

"You do this to people on the _phone?"_

"Shut up Reno, I wasn't talking to you. Wakka? You there?"

"Yes, sir," the voice on the other end said, a little fazed. "Were you flying domestically or internationally, sir?"

"Domestically. I always thought it was a little weird, saying the domestic United States and what have you… why not self-contained, or you know, something a little more manly? Domestic is just so feminine."

"You're so feminine."

"Shut up, Reno."

"Let me transfer you, okay, somebody will be with you in just a second, hang on."

An abrupt beep in his ear told Axel that he was being transferred, and then annoying classical music started playing. "He transferred me."

"Probably glad he dodged the bullet. Why are you calling them anyway? What's wrong with your ticket for tomorrow?"

"I want to get out tonight."

"What?Why? You can't do that!"

"Why not? It's a completely changeable ticket, guy even said so when I bought it. No worries, no money, not that you'd care or anything, but just saying, it's doable—"

"No, you idiot. Have you forgotten? The whole "after funeral" shindig? The whole "meet people at the house and mourn?" The family thing? Hello? Are you even in there?"

"Think reasonably, Reno. Your mom was pissed. Your entire family doesn't know who I am. Excuse me, I'd rather not."

Reno seemed to be fuming. "This is your _father's _ funeral. You need to pay him respect."

"I'm here, aren't I? I'm sorry but a night of answering awkward questions and dealing with your mother's glares isn't exactly my idea of a hip time."

"Will you stop ragging on my mom? She's not a fucking devil, Ax."

Axel chose not to reply and instead focus very intently on the classy classical music in his ear.

"Listen to me, you little prick, you have to come. I don't care if it's awkward, I don't care if it's crazy, you have to be there."

"Yes, well, it wouldn't be awkward for you now, would it?"

"Why not? I brought it up."

"Yea, and now I have to pay for it so honestly, I'd rather not go."

There was silence.

"It's not the end of the world," Reno said, trying to bring back some of his bite.

"Explaining a sudden appearance of a family member is kind of world ending for some, I'd think."

"No, it's not. They'll get over it."

"And ask what, seventy hundred questions in the process? I'd rather not, Reno. Oh hi, I'm his brother. Oh no, I'm twenty one, always been around. Yea, no, they never talked about me, it was all a big hush hush secret, sorry you didn't get the memo."

"It's not like that," Reno said, uncomfortably.

"Right, of course it isn't. I really—"

"Roxas Hart, Rogart Airlines, we offer the best—"

"Well, what are the odds?"

There was silence on the other end, complete and dead silence.

"Roxas?" Axel asked, hoping direly he hadn't lost the connection and have to be plunged back into conversation with his brother. "Are you there?"

"This is Roxas Hart," the voice on the other end said, faintly. "Rogart Airlines…"

"Oh hey, yea, thought that was you. This is Axel Stone. You helped me with my compassion fare the other day, because I was flying out for my mom's funeral. You said it was completely changeable and stuff because you were so helpful so I was calling to change it. That's possible right?"

"Axel Stone," Roxas intoned.

"Right! You remember me? Small world, huh? Don't you guys have a bunch of different offices around—Jesus Christ Reno, watch the fucking road!"

"Lose your connection yet?' Reno asked icily, the car starting again after the near rear end with the Cadillac in front of it.

"No, Axel said, glaring at his brother. "Sorry Rox, you still there?"

"I'm still here," Roxas said, still sounding a little shocked. "Right, small world. Did you have your confirmation number?"

"Confirmation number? Um…. Did that come with the email?"

"The one that was sent to ilightthingsonfire1209 at yahoo?" That was sent with no sense of humor or irony and Axel sort of chuckled nervously.

"Yea, that one. Give me a second." He flipped his phone around and played with a few keys before he got to his email and pulled up the one he'd received from the airline. "Ok, I got it. Here you go." He read off a series of numbers and he heard Roxas tapping away at a keyboard. Axel said nothing and neither did Reno so it was quiet for a few seconds. Reno continued forward in the procession, but there were no more sudden stops. He seemed to be sulking in his corner of the car, staring straight forward and actually concentrating on the road. i_I should piss him off more often,/i_ Axel thought, pressing his forehead against the window and trying to see how far away they were from the cemetery, which was still nowhere in sight. Reno's Focus was the fourth car in the procession, after his mother's and his grandparents and of course, the hearse. Behind them was the car that carried Reno's uncle Rude and a few aunts and Axel briefly wondered if there had been a brawl about the order of cars in the procession. Knowing Rude and Angela, there probably had been.

"Okay, I have your record right up here, Mr. Stone," the voice said, still tonelessly. "You said you were trying to get out tonight?"

"The later the better, thanks, Roxas," Axel said, "on one of those cool overnight flights you—RENO."

Reno slammed on the brakes again and Axel toppled forward, again almost into the dash. "Stop acting like a fucking twelve year old!"

"I'm the one acting like I'm twelve? How do you figure that?"

"Oh, I don't know, you're trying to fucking kill us?"

"You're the one trying to get out before your father's wake!"

"I'm not—"

"My mom kicked me out of her car because she wouldn't let you ride with us—"

"Pity me," Axel muttered.

"—and she wouldn't let me put you in the eulogy and I did anyway and I gave your mom the money to fly you out here and I let you stay with me and you broke my fucking door—"

"You didn't give my mom anything, shut up."

"I've been sending her money for years, Axel."

"Fuck off Reno; I get my fucking monthly allowance."

"Your mom doesn't and you used her credit card for the fucking flight, didn't you?"

Silence, and then Roxas said in his ear, "Uh, I have a flight that departs at—"

"Sorry to waste your time, Roxas, I'll call you back in a sec."

"Wait, who gave you my exten—"

Axel hung up the phone, flipped it shut, and slid it into his pocket. He pressed his face once more into the glass and saw the front green lawn of the cemetery. It always amazed him how cemetery lawns were always the greenest. Death was probably a highly profitable business. He hadn't yet heard about the gravestone that Angela had picked out for his father but he bet it was magnificent, classy, and cost more than the tuition at a local state university for a year, including room and board. The funeral had been a lavish affair, the gathering at the mansion would probably host more than two hundred people—including the ones who hadn't been able to squeeze into the church—and probably have more food than children in Africa ate in one year, and there was no reason to believe that this headstone would be cheap. She had probably ordered a mausoleum to be made.

"Why do you send her money?"

Reno made a derisive noise. "Now you want to talk to me?"

"I always want to talk to you, babe. I'm just curious. I'm not changing my plans, I'm just wondering."

"Why don't you ask her?"

"Because we're about to attend a burial and I thought that in the time allotted I wouldn't be able to get hold of her, but luckily I have someone on one side of the issue sitting right here so I thought it would be pretty prudent to just ask that person. Was that wrong of me to think?"

"Yes," Reno said shortly, signaling to turn into the cemetery.

"Dude, we're in a procession, you don't have to signal. In fact, you never signal. What gives?"

"I'm done with this conversation, Axel."

Axel felt the thin patience he was trying to oblige giving away. "Listen asshole, I can ask my mom and she won't say anything because my mom's a bitch and doesn't tell me shit. I can't exactly go running off to your mom because, frankly, your mom would rather I didn't exist. Obviously our grandparents don't know and it's not like I have much left to go on in this family. So can you cut the fucking crap and tell me what the fuck you're talking about?"

"I will if you stay tonight."

Axel kept his mouth shut.

"Give a little, take a little, babe."

"That's playing dirty."

"Like I care."

"Obviously you don't." Axel said nothing else and watched the car in front of them roll to a stop. Reno gently lulled the car, pulled the brake, and turned off the ignition. In front of them Angela and their grandparents got out of their cars but they didn't move.

"Don't forget to turn your phone off," Reno reminded, though he still didn't move.

"That's the most important thing," Axel said demurely, licking his lips and nervously smoothing back his unruly hair.

"Give or take, babe. Tell me later." Reno opened the door and was out in a second; Axel heard the gravel crunching underneath his feet. Axel breathed as Aerith came up alongside the door, looking at him curiously, waiting for him to get out.

"Asshole," he muttered, before he opened the door and stood up.

__

"Who's Axel Stone?"

Demyx, in the middle of a call, looked at him like he sprouting wings from his back and held up a finger, telling him to be patient. He motioned vaguely at the computer screen, spent a second studying a record, and then toggled back over to a jigsaw puzzle he was completing. Roxas's first thought was that half the time Demyx got New York and Newark confused and yet he could find his way into an illegal game on the internet. His second thought was to smash Demyx's face into the screen at the highest velocity he could achieve from a dead standstill. A running leap at it would produce a higher velocity but Demyx, by some act of the gods above, would probably notice something other than the game for one moment and possibly react and though the possibility was very slim since Demyx's attention span was about half a second shorter than a toddler's, it still existed and Roxas would rather not take chances at the moment and just complete a stunning face smash into the screen.

He chose not to act on it and instead pushed Demyx's shoulder aside and pushed his mute button. Demyx, in alarm, smacked his hand away and pressed the button, saying, "Dude I'm in the middle of a call, fuck off."

Roxas had half a second to savor the wide-eyed panicked look on Demyx's face before it turned into a melting puddle of remorse as he babbled an apology to the customer. He then spent the next few moments amusedly observing Demyx attempt to chat up the customer, who seemed like he was halfway responding to Demyx's fervent attempts. A few moments later Demyx had extended his reservation free of charge and then passionately expressed his thanks for the customer choosing to fly their airline. A moment later he was hitting his "unavailable" button and shooting up, fists flying without abandon toward Roxas's face.

Roxas easily dodged and grabbed his fists, forcing him back into the chair and pushing, so that he rolled back and hit the desk, causing his computer to rattle noisily and a few of the pictures pinned to the soft corkboard to fall downward, the tacks rolling around dangerously.

"Hey, I'm sorry, but you pressed the button," Roxas said, on his toes and awaiting a retaliation.

"Dude if my supervisor hears that I'm fucking dead," Demyx said, pale face even paler than usual. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Who's Axel Stone?"

"Like I fucking know," Demyx said, sounding utterly depressed and staring at his telephone pad. "Do you think they'll let me keep the headset? It makes me feel cool."

"You're not going to get fired, chill out," Roxas said, "just tell them it was my fault and I pressed the button and you didn't know. I'll totally take the blame."

"I still said it," said the taller blonde morosely. "Lexaeus is going to kill me."

"Wouldn't doubt it," Roxas said agreeably, feeling slightly bad for his friend. "But tell me, who the fuck is Axel Stone?"

"I don't know, your boyfriend? Shouldn't you be in your cube?"

"I had to ask you."

"Just put it in my record, I check that thing like four times a day. Or you could have just waited until break. In like forty minutes. Is it that important? Do you miss him that bad?"

"_No_," Roxas said, "it's not! He's some crazy who's somehow gotten my extension and keeps calling me!"

Demyx stared at him for a second, and then wolf whistled. "Roxas has a _stalker,_ Roxas has a crazy homo _stalker."_

"Shut up," Roxas snapped irritably. "He's not my stalker, but somehow he's gotten my extension and he keeps _calling me.._ He called asking about prices for a compassion rate and I gave him and he said he'd call back, so he called back like four minutes later and bought it and he just called me _again_ to see about changing it and then he hung up and said he'd call back!"

"_Roxas and Allen, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-"_

"What are you, fucking twelve? And his name's Axel and I just want to change my extension. You think I can do that? Are you sure it wasn't you?"

"Nope, don't know any Axels. Sorry to disappoint. So what's wrong? He's only called three times and he called for valid reasons. Loosen up. Have a little fun. With him."

"i_I don't even know him._" Roxas slumped against the wall of the yellow cubicle. "I'm just annoyed, that's all. It's no big deal. I just want to know how he got my extension."

"Maybe one of your mortal enemies gave it out," Demyx suggested, carefully picking up the tacks that had fallen out of the corkboard and replacing his pictures, all of which seemed to consist of some beach, an eye patch, and an oversized guitar that Roxas constantly made fun of him for playing. Who played a sitar nowadays?

"I don't have any mortal enemies," Roxas said crossly. "At least I don't think so."

"Well like you said, no big deal. Talk to Lexaeus about changing your extension if you're so worried about your stalker."

"He's not a stalker, he's just crazy!"

"I thought that was the definition of stalker. Just chill out. You're wasting my precious break minutes, you should go."

"What, have a hot date for fifteen minutes later?' Roxas grumbled, swiping his hair out of his eyes irritably.

"Sure do," Demyx said, mysteriously.

"Right. I totally believe you."

"You should. It's true."

"Right."

"Really! Why don't you believe me? You don't believe I could get a date?" Demyx sounded a combination of both flustered and panicked.

"Dude, chill out. You're wasting my precious break minutes."

"Well fuck you." Growling, Demyx turned back to his computer screen. "If I get fired I'm totally blaming you."

"Nope. That was all you."

"No it wasn't!

"Right." Roxas saluted him with two fingers and backed out of the cubicle, with already half a mind to go down to Lexaeus's office to change his extension. Who could have given it out to that lunatic? His mind rolled over a few options, but none of them seemed to have any real validity. Of course this entire thing was just a little bit out of the ordinary. He'd heard of people in the office who had gotten stalkers, but most of the ones who had regular customers were those who had sane, loyal customers committed to them because of good service. Roxas wouldn't know anything about that, but he did know that in order for those sane, loyal customers to keep reaching the same agent they first had to get the extension from said agent. And Roxas gave nobody his extension. Naminé was the extent.

There had to be some sort of explanation for this disturbing situation.

Maybe he wouldn't call back. Roxas had heard the entire conversation between this Axel and whoever else was in the car and frankly, Roxas wanted no part of it. He sort of pitied the guy, from the parts of the conversation he'd been able to follow, but no way did pity give way to stalker. The easily distractible man had called it fate; maybe he was telling the truth, though Roxas doubt it to the extreme. They had over six hundred agents in this building along, along with the massive office in Texas. i_Fate my ass, he's stalking me./i_

"I see you're not on your phone."

Roxas jumped about five feet in the air—which was just about as tall as he was—and turned around hastily to see Lexaeus standing there, watching him with those eerily quiet brown eyes. Roxas tried to fake a smile, but it came out rather stretched and obviously fake. "Hi, Lex. I was going to see you. I'm having a problem and I need to change my extension." He paused, wondering if that was enough, and then blurted out—just in case Lexaeus missed the urgency of the entire situation—in a rush, "I have this stalker who keeps calling me and I don't know who gave him my extension but he keeps calling me and he's crazy and I don't get it and I'd really just rather have my extension changed to—"

"Are we talking about Mr. Stone?"

Roxas froze, probably looking very deer in the headlights at the moment. "Uh, I think that's his name, he keeps calling with the name Axel and—"

"Well, he has a valid record, Roxas, and he requests your assistance. He also didn't request your extension, so it's really just a twist of fate he keeps getting through to you."

That threw out the entire "aliens are trying to kill me" bid.

"I would just expect you to keep offering our top quality customer service." Lexaeus's eyes didn't change but Roxas could easily tell the quiet amusement in his voice. "So, do me a favor and get back to your desk, please. You might as well go ahead and give Mr. Stone your extension anyway. Sounds like you two are becoming fast friends."

Roxas looked at him with horrified eyes, breath nearly hitching in throat at the thought of such a slimy word as _friends._

"Of course I'm just kidding," Lexaeus said, still with that deep, quiet amusement in his tone. "I wouldn't expect that. But please, back to your desk before I have to write up documentation about your absence from the phone."

"Yes, sir," Roxas said, resisting the urge to snap off a sharp salute and then turned on his heel and started marching back down toward his own desk, trying to work out the mathematical probability in his head. He got lost somewhere after the second equation—math had never, ever been any sort of strong suit with him—but had successfully deduced that this Axel Stone reaching him three times in a row was highly unlikely. Perhaps Lexaeus was trying to trick him. Make him see things, or make him run around in circles and chase his tail to provide some sort of excellent customer service. Maybe Demyx and Lexaeus were both onto it and were both trying to fool him. Lexaeus didn't seem the type but perhaps Demyx had seduced him and coerced him to go on with the plan. Demyx had a big mouth, after all, and Roxas was positive he knew how to put it to good use. The mental image wasn't worth thinking about.

He got back to his desk and sat, staring hard at the headset before resignedly placing it back on his head. If was about to live a life full of roofs and calls from Axel Stone, he might as well start getting use to it. And he had been having such a pleasant day too.

A call immediately jumped up from the queue into his ear and he winced, a wince that came through on his shaky voice over the phone. "Roxas Hart, Rogart—"

"Yo, brother, I'm trying to get from Miami over to Dallas, you dig?"

Hardly daring to hope, Roxas breathed out, "Your name, sir?"

Roxas missed most of the name—he thought it was something fancy like John Smith—but the one thing that he was positive about was that the name was _not_ Axel Stone.

Maybe this day could be salvaged, after all.

__

Once again, Axel wondered if there had been heated, dramatic discussion regarding the pallbearer choices. With Angela everything seemed quite dramatic—Axel wasn't sure he'd known of anything in her life that had been peaceful, or even just calm. It was some part of that fiery temperament—or what Axel liked to think of as her bitch attitude—that had drawn his father to her. At least at first. Men made mistakes, though.

Not that Axel was presuming his father's marriage a mistake, but one had to wonder what the hell he had been thinking when he'd married the broad.

In any case, he watched without concealing his glee that he had not been granted the very privileged honor of clutching the casket and making the way over to the hole in the ground. Axel had not been mistaken in his assessment of the entire situation—Angela's purchase would probably pay the rent, keep the lawn watered, and maybe even buy a wreath every day for the next few months. The stone was nearly as tall as Axel and beautifully carved, intricate patterns of filigree woven all along its shiny marble surface. The top curves were ocean waves, sloping steeply upward before dropping straight in the back to the bottom, where more crashing waves were carved. There was some sort of faulty logic to that but Axel did appreciate the two flames crawling up the front two sides.

He wasn't close enough yet to see the inscription but he was sure that Angela had gotten her priest, mother, father, uncle, doctor, nurse practitioner, female doctor, lawyer, banker, baker, personal shopper, cook, and an assortment of other people to read it and make sure that it sounded very honorific and proper. Nothing was too extravagant for Angela. A few more steps would take him into enough distance to see the delicate font but right now he was having fun watching Reno struggle with the weight of the coffin.

A few uncles, Reno, and even his grandfather was hoisting the coffin up and marching solemnly toward the plot. He heard his grandmother's sniffs and Tifa's spiked stiletto boots crunching into the gravel. Aerith was walking alongside him, clutching his arm and still not showing any signs of giving in or crying. He was sure she would break down later, though he wasn't sure if he'd be around to see it. She had simply adored his father and on the surface, he supposed there were reasons for that, even if he failed to see them. He held onto her to support her as she clutched his arm and he supposed there was irony in that too. There was no irony, however, for the increased murmurings that had gone on since most of the primary party had exited their vehicles after the hellishly long procession.

He could hear them, especially that loud gramps in the back, the first one he'd greeted at the door. That one was complaining loudly to his neighbor, wondering who the hell this brother was and who had greeted him and why the greeter had called himself Reno and not Axel. Axel smirked to himself, pleased with his work, until he saw that Aerith was watching him intensely and then he tried to fix his face back into a mask of solemnity.

"Why would you tell them you were Reno?" she inquired softly, still holding tightly onto his arm.

"Why not? It's easier to explain."

"You act like they have no idea who they are…"

"Oh, they don't, trust me. I'm not exactly a favored son of a big wealthy man, that would be Reno. I might as well just go ahead and reap the benefits of being tall and looking Irish."

"You aren't Irish."

"I know, it was just a nationality joke. I was making fun of the Irish. For the flaming red hair and freckles."

"You don't have freckles either."

"Do you think I'd look cute with freckles?"

He saw her watery, pure smile. "Aw, you look cute in anything. I don't know if they would take away from your eyes though."

He frowned. "But you just said I look cute in anything."

"But it's really the eyes that do it. I think a light coat wouldn't hurt. Too many and you'd look like a cow."

"Moo, moo," Axel intoned, as they neared the headstone. He could see the script now, a smooth, fluid script that ran along the length of the entire face, listing the standard spiel about his name, birth place, birth date and death date, along with the list of who he was beloved of: he was a beloved husband, father, son, uncle, community organizer, beneficiary, and a good man. There was a quote underneath that Axel couldn't make out and didn't much care about—Angela had never been very good at picking worthwhile quotes and making full use of them. Her favorite quote was something about beer and boys and not wasting time. It was a good thing she had probably gotten a million people to look at the proposed inscription before committing to it, because if she hadn't, children would probably be scared for life coming into this cemetery.

It really was funny, the lengths people went to for proper funeral arrangements. As far as Axel was concerned, he wanted to be burned—simple, pure, and just great for the ozone layer. He saw the coffin finally drop into the thing that would go ahead and lower it into the coffin—apparently Angela had paid big bucks for that too, not that it was really any worry, but the dramatic nature of it all irked him. Behind her and the crane-thing that would lower the dead remains of some dead mammal was an open variety of green lawn. The lengths people would go. It was the family plot and that's where Reno and Angela and any grandkids from anyone would go. It was a little eerie to be standing here, looking at that, and knowing that someone was going to be buried there. He wondered if Reno were feeling it. A look at his brother told him that Reno was just annoyed with the entire pallbearer thing, as he was now sweating profusely and his smooth hair had deflated a little bit. A quick glance at Tifa told him that she was still all eyes for him, which sorely disappointed Axel, as the thought of anyone finding his brother attractive was just about as weird as someone telling him they found i_him/i_ attractive.

The pallbearers went to their folding seats and Axel untangled Aerith's arm from his with a solemn look and marched up to the front row, glaring at Reno the entire way. Reno seemed to be concerned with his hair at the moment, trying to push it back but failing. Right now his hair was as unruly as Axel's, which caused Axel no bit of grief. A smile or a smirk would more than likely be misinterpreted as tyranny or rebellion, however, and that would just cause grief later on that he did not feel completely ready to deal with, so instead he just sat in the seat, again between his brother and his grandmother, and waited for the entire thing to start.

People started to file in behind him and a quick glance behind him told him that Aerith was sitting there, like she had earlier, starting resolutely at the crane-thing holding the coffin. He wanted to flash a quick smile, anything to give her some strength, but there went Tifa, sitting there and sniffing loudly, nearly as loudly as his grandmother. Resisting the urge to scowl at her, he turned back around, to where Angela was standing and directing traffic, giving thanks for coming and accepting many hugs and well wishes. Reno was standing too, and so were his grandparents, so at the moment he was alone in the front row save a few uncles and aunts at the end of the row. He felt sort of small and alone and wondered if he was supposed to be doing Reno's job and if he'd been banned from it because of Reno's antics earlier at the funeral. Probably, but that was fine, Axel liked sitting here and being stared obviously just as well.

He wasn't as vain to think that his entire "reveal" at the church had rocked too many peoples' world—the ones who cared deeply about it already knew. But the ones who didn't really care, the ones who had known his father for some of his financial things and were just acquaintances had probably been a little shocked. Reno had been more or less well known as their father's son—he had that shock of red hair that had made Takeshi Stone memorable and he was loud and not very graceful and the biggest flirt that had graced the Stone family for years so most people knew of Reno, even if they didn't know him. A second son had probably never been mentioned or even thought of—which was perfectly fine with Axel. He'd spent two decades of his life not existing and being thrust into the spotlight so suddenly was making him feel extremely uncomfortable and for the millionth time that day he found himself wishing that Reno had just kept that well known mouth of his snapped shut.

The greetings were done as soon as the rows of black folding chairs that had been set out were filled up and all that was left was the front. The eyes on him were still pretty much focused on him, and Axel didn't blame the, since seriously, who really had cared about Takeshi Stone? Most of them were business acquaintances, but some of them were simply gossip hounds and seriously, what was more interesting at a funeral than some sudden son? Nothing, that was what, and when Reno took his seat by Axel's side, Axel had resumed glaring at him.

Reno, for his part, was still primarily concerned for his hair and kept trying to slick it back suavely, like it had been earlier, but it was springing up, just like Axel's, and he imagined they probably looked like two trolls. Axel shifted uncomfortably in his hot suit, feeling the knotted bulge of the tie stick into his leg a little bit painfully. The preacher stood up and Axel prepared to sleep with his eyes open again because seriously, what was the point of speaking again? They had already covered his life, his death, his family, his extramarital affairs, what else was there to say about him? Could the priest just bless the ground some other time so they get on to getting drunk over at the mansion?

Apparently not, and Axel napped for about twenty minutes, the sun not pleasant at all on his skin and he wished he had brought his sunglasses, because then he could hide his eyes and not have to sleep with them open. He briefly wondered if he was swaying, because he felt like at any moment he was about to topple over into Reno's lap and fall fast asleep. He must have looked overly dozing, because a sharp elbow to his ribs made him sit up taller and a sideways glance revealed that Reno was glaring him, and so was Angela. There was a reason people had called his mother brave back in the day, or at least that's what she had told him when she ever spoke to him, and facing that woman was probably why. Her looks couldn't kill; her looks could bury the entire continent of Africa under swarms of disease infected fire ants, which was painful, and undoubtedly worse.

A few moments later the mini sermon was apparently over and he was startled to his feet with the rest of them. They stood and grasped hands and when Axel took Reno's hand he tried to squeeze hard, but Reno was having none of it and ignoring him pointedly. With a resigned thought that perhaps he should try to care that he was sitting at his father's open graveside, he focused instead on the grinding noise of the crane as it started to lower the casket into the hole. A song suddenly blasted into the air, some sort of whimsical little church song, and at the first note he heard his grandmother burst into heaving tears, gripping his hand painfully and sobbing into his grandfather's shoulder. Axel felt, at the moment, extremely, extremely weak and foolish and about a dozen other adjectives that labeled him a bad grandson.

The song and the ensuing increased sobbing went on until the casket had been lowered into the hole and the crane-thing had pulled back up its cables and was shut off. The song increased its tempo and finished with a resounding, quavering, silver, piercing tone that filled up the grassy lawns of the cemetery and made Axel's ears ring. He was still holding onto his weeping grandmother's hand and she was trying to stagger forward now, so he tugged his hand free of his brother's and clutched hers, half afraid that she was going to pitch into the grave right after her dead son. Angela and Reno were moving forward now, throwing in flowers and when she tugged his hand even harder, he realized that she was trying to do the same. Feeling a little put out, he still grasped her hand loosely as she tossed in a deep red rose. Pulling back, she was crying a little more softly, but she was turning now, and throwing her arms around Axel's upper torso, since she was too short to really put them around his shoulders.

He held her, feeling incredibly awkward and weird and holding her close. Her tears were dampening his black sleeves and he tried to make shushing noises, hoping they were appropriate in this situation. A few seconds later his grandfather gracefully took her into his own arms and he was free to stand there awkwardly now, instead of just holding her awkwardly. The ceremony was apparently over; a few people were throwing more flowers into the open grave but most were shying away, over under the white tent that had been set up for that specific purpose. Soon enough they'd be loading back into the cars to head over to the mansion, the cars they'd just all driven here in one long procession. Such a silly thing, these funerals.

Approaching the hole in the ground, he peered inside at the coffin. It was sleek, mahogany, with a golden design on the front that he could barely see through all the flower petals. It was probably the family crest. He tilted his head slightly. Now that he thought about it, there probably was a family crest.

"Pretty nifty, huh?"

Reno's voice was soft and slightly feathery. He was standing with his hands in his pockets at the edge of the grave, looking over. Axel said nothing.

"It was pretty expensive but you know her. I found these in your suitcase."

And suddenly out of the blue, Reno handed him the pack of Camels he had stashed into the small zipped up part of his tattered suitcase. Axel looked at the blue and green pack for a good second, leaving Reno's hands outstretched there holding the square box. A second later he snatched it out of his brother's hand like it was on fire and stuck it into his mouth, shoving the flimsy box into his pocket to rest against the knotted tie. A pat down revealed no lighter, which was probably good, because smoking at your father's open graveside while women were weeping into the background on a sunny day was just too cliché for him.

Content to just let it sit against his lips, he told Reno, "Don't think just because you gave me these I'm sticking around for tonight."

Reno frowned. "I was hoping a bribe was going to work."

"More like get the fuck out of my suitcase asshole."

A few of the mourners around the hole glanced up.

"Hey, it's in my apartment. The way I see it, it's my property."

"Great, fix your own damn door then. That was your fault anyway."

"You were the one that wouldn't get up. And you had the door locked."

Axel narrowed his eyes. "Do you think that maybe had something to do with the fact that I didn't want you going through my fucking suitcase?"

"What, afraid I was going to find your vibrator?"

A couple of the mourners started to chatter nervously.

"Don't make me fucking tackle you into that damn grave, Reno."

"That would simply be barbaric, little bro." Reno made a sudden move and Axel didn't have a chance to escape as Reno suddenly hugged him, hard. Axel nearly staggered backward from the excess weight, but the cigarette did manage to drop from his lips, roll forward through the apparently sprightly grass, and drop into the hole. Axel's eyes widened in panic and he tried to sputter out a breath and say something, something like "I just dropped a new cigarette into my father's grave, let me go and retrieve it before it sets everything on fire, thanks," but Reno was holding him too hard.

"You know," Reno breathed, "it wouldn't kill you to show some emotion now and again."

Axel scoffed, but the sound was suddenly pitchy. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to get off me, asshole. I dropped my fucking cigarette in that damn hole." There was a pause, and then, a bit more softly, "A fucking brand new cigarette, asshole. Brand fucking new."

"Cigarettes are bad for you and you should stop cussing so much, you little prick," was the reply and Reno released him without another word, stepping away and heading toward the white tent. Axel shook himself, aware that there were a few people watching him, like they had been throughout the entire ceremony. He inched forward another step, glancing once more at the headstone, and he saw the white stick sitting there, stuck between the petals in the bed of flowers that was now covering the top of the casket.

What a waste.

He hadn't even gotten two steps before he had his cell phone out and he was dialing the number he'd just called in the car.


	4. Part 4

Title: This Frenzied State [4/?]  
Rating: M  
Genre: Drama/romance  
Pairing: Axel/Roxas (AU)  
Warnings: Abuse of miscellaneous Final Fantasy characters. Seriously. Any mischaracterization is obviously all my fault.  
Summary: When Roxas stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see into some eternity. When Axel stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see how he'd survive a fourteen floor fall.

Author's Notes: Yes, set schedule? I suck, I know. To my defense, this was the part where I was originally very shaky, plot-wise, and had to go back over everything a lot to figure out what I was doing. This part is relatively short, but the next one will be longer and hopefully, up a lot quicker. Thanks to everyone reviewing, you all make my day, really. If I could answer your reviews I would-- but I always feel awkward doing that. But I do appreciate it, really. :)

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"It's Thursday night. We _always_ go do parties on Thursday nights."

Roxas had one time heard a man describe killing someone like some sort of orgasmic bliss, something that was supposed to the purest and most wondrous feeling in the world. Shrugging into his coat, he figured that whoever had said that probably had at one point in his life had to deal with someone like Demyx.

"Roxas, come _on._ It's been ages since you've been out. Invite your girlfriend!"

"Naminé isn't my girlfriend," he said automatically, shouldering his messenger bag and surveying the small cubicle. If something was ever lost in here, he reasoned, it would take approximately fourteen seconds to recover it.

"Well invite her! She's cute and if she's single I know a couple of guys looking to pick up a hot babe."

The look that Roxas gave him could have made global warming feasible but Demyx was thicker than those fancy trees up in Canada and so he hammered on, "And there will be girls and lots of people and come _on_, Roxas. What have you got to do tomorrow night that's so important? Get ready for work on Friday? You haven't had a Thursday off in forever, come and chill with us."

"Have I ever," Roxas said, massaging a temple, "given you the impression I enjoy your company?"

"Of course you have!"

Roxas had to smile at that, a genuine, tired smile. "Fine, fine. What's so special about this time, anyway?"

"We got a disco ball," Demyx said, seriously, as they headed toward the elevator. "Lots of flashing lights, so if you or your friend is prone to seizures I'd probably stay away. Are you serious, though? You're really going to loosen up and let us put a few drinks in you?"

"You make it seem like I don't have a life at all," Roxas objected.

"Yea, I know. I mean, what, you do?"

The punch that Demyx aimed at him was high and missed anyway.

"No, I promise you'll have fun. I mean, I know everyone. Everyone's a lot more fun when they're with alcohol." Demyx was grinning, about all eighteen hundred of his perfect white teeth showing. "And don't worry, it's not like we won't let you drink any."

"Thought you said it wouldn't be a problem."

"It's _not,_" Demyx continued impatiently, punching the down button with little regard, though Roxas wondered if Demyx had ever actually pushed the up button, not that it mattered to him, because the elevator didn't take you to the roof anyway, though, admittedly, an elevator with a direct connection to the roof would be quite handy, though he hadn't seen many, if any, of those ever. "I'm just saying, we'll get you some. Chill out little dude, I promise we'll go ahead and take care of your underaged ass."

"You're so cool," Roxas intoned, "when I grow up I want to be as cool as you."

"Oh and hey, we're thinking about hitting Miami the week before Christmas," Demyx said, as they exited the elevator on the other end. "Me and a couple other guys. Were you interested in coming?"

"Why would I want to go to Miami in the middle of winter?"

"Because it never gets hot in Florida, duh, Roxas."

"But they have hurricanes and national disaster areas, why would anyone want to go there?"

"Fine, don't say I didn't invite you. Do you want a ride?"

"Nope, got mine, thanks."

"That piece of wood hardly classifies as a ride, you know."

"And your car classifies?"

"Very funny. See you tomorrow. Get your party hat on."

Roxas made a face at him and turned in the opposite direction, dropping his board to the ground and hopping on. A few quick strokes took him directly past the few shops that lined the street and he passed a mother herding a group of children toward the bookstore, directing them to stay out of the way of the delinquent skater kid. He considered stopping to sign autographs or at the very least run over the smallest one but a proud delinquent such as himself never showed any care for the media's attentions. True rebels, such as himself, did not attract attention or stir the public's pot. That was for the younger ones, the lower rebels without any dignity. Roxas had left their kind long ago.

He'd never run over anyone though. That was a one day goal.

He considered dropping by at Naminé's, since her place was closer and she would probably feed him but she had told him she would be busy tonight, getting ready for his big, grand art show. He hadn't yet seen the painting of himself, something that he was contemplating either torturing her to get or admitting defeat with his tail between his legs. The question was more about whether he would be recognized at the art show and feel flattered or feel horrified that Naminé had gotten his likeness completely, totally wrong. He had complete and utter faith in her art skills; he had less faith in his own good look skills.

Ultimately deciding that she was probably working on his painting and that any distraction would cause an unfixable mistake on his face and he'd be mentally scarred for life by the art critics who would praise her work and condemn her model, he slid by her apartment building aiming toward his own. He reached it in less than ten minutes and he hustled upstairs out of the thick weather, tossing off his jacket onto his couch and falling on it, feeling a bit exhausted. Rex jumped up a second later, demanding to be petted, and Roxas obliged, the cat curling up on his chest in her favorite position. He fished the cell phone out of his pocket, realizing he hadn't checked it at all since he'd gotten his last break and reprimand from Lexaeus about his absence on the calls. He briefly pondered the enigma and not very likely chances of someone getting a hold of his extension and stalking him. Seriously, who would stalk him? The most likely answer was Demyx and after much careful reasoning, Roxas had ruled him out, the primary reason being Demyx probably wasn't smart enough to dial the number right three times in a row. Other than that, he really had no idea who would be doing it. Perhaps Lexaeus had been right and he was simply being paranoid. Some sort of hysteria produced by his own brain that had to do with his inability to cope with improbabilities.

Something like that.

He had a message blinking in the corner and so he dialed his voicemail, stroking his cat's ears gently.

When he had finished listening to the single message, he got up, went to his bedroom, found a warmer jacket, and called work, indicating he wouldn't be able to make it the next day. He called a cab next, for the train station, and then put enough food out for Rex to last the next day.

When he was finally in the cab, he called his mother back and asked what hospital she was in.

__

"I'm not taking you to the airport."

Reno's voice was flat.

"You don't have to."

"Or back to my apartment."

"That's fine too. Aerith will."

"You're going to break Grandma's heart."

"I'll be back for Thanksgiving, Reno. I already have that ticket bought."

"I gave you back your cigarettes."

"They weren't yours to take."

"You owe me for that door."

"Put it on my tab, sweetie."

Reno had taken boxing classes when he was little, for some reason, probably because Angela had thought her precious boy needed to be able to defend himself in case something ever happened to him. Most of what he'd learned had seeped out of his skull, or he had just never learned it in the first place; he was horribly clumsy and had a tendency to trip over his own feet than actually successfully fend off an opponent. Reno was good at one thing, though, and his punches still always landed true and strong and fast. Axel had grown accustomed to them and was pretty acutely aware of when one would be thrown his way, so when Reno's fist came shooting out from his side, fast like a snake, he'd been able to dodge most of it, though it still landed squarely in his shoulder, hard, like Reno always hit. At least it hadn't been his head.

"Grow up."

Apparently the brotherly moment they'd shared in the cemetery was over, because Reno was glaring at him with utter disgust written into every feature on his face. Ouch.

"No, Axel, you grow up. Hiding from something isn't going to make it go away. You're still part of this family."

"Yes, and that's a joyous occasion indeed."

Reno bared his teeth. "Takeshi Stone was your father too and he had a name and a reputation and none of that means anything to you. You're acting like an ungrateful eleven year old that didn't get his favorite toy on Christmas."

"I didn't get what I wanted when I was eleven," Axel reminded him. "I wanted a light saber. A glowing light saber. And I didn't get it."

"Fuck off, Axel. Go back to New York."

"I fully intend to."

"Fine," Reno snapped, spinning on his heel and marching away back to the white tent where everyone else was. "Fine, just go."

Axel watched him walk away with something like dismay on his face, and then he followed. People were starting to disperse now, trail back to their cars, but his grandparents were still there, clutching each other, and so were Angela and Aerith and Tifa. Reno was immediately stopped by Tifa, who looked at him worriedly with a bitten lip. Aerith was watching Axel in confusion, so he turned in the opposite direction and went toward his grandparents.

She started crying again when he said that he was going, that he had a test tomorrow night and he thought he could skip out and really couldn't. He said that he was proud of him for being so brave and then making the tough choice to go and take his test even though he was probably hurting inside, but it was noble and what his father would have wanted. She eventually quieted and slipped him a discreet bill that he didn't even bother to look at because he knew what it was. He told them that he'd see them at Thanksgiving and that seemed to cheer them up quite a bit. They said goodbye and then he went to where Reno and Angela were, talking quietly amongst themselves, the tears having been dried on her face for awhile.

"Reno tells me you're leaving early."

Her voice was merciless and the glare on Reno's face had not gone away.

"Yea. I really should head back. I'd probably just be an extra body at the mansion anyway."

"The _house_ is large enough to accommodate everyone. You don't have to leave. We're expecting you."

He shrugged a little helplessly in her general direction. "I'm sorry. I really need to go back."

"You would think you would have more respect for your father on the day of his funeral."

Trust her to get straight to the point. He had nothing to say to that.

"His estate will be cleared up in the next month," she continued, in that same icy tone of hers that she always seemed to have stockpiled in her reserve just for him. "You may or may not be required to attend. If you are, I trust you'll be able to make arrangements to get back out here on your own."

Trust her to get straight to the point, the point being that the stipend he was getting would pay for the ticket and she would not touch anymore of his father's money in his behalf until the estate was taken care of. It was nice to know he was loved.

With nothing else to say, he gave her an awkward kiss on the cheek which seemed to repulse her, he hugged Tifa, and simply looked at Reno, who simply looked back, that same glare still blazing in his emerald eyes. He tugged on Aerith's arm, asking her quietly if she would take him to the airport, and she obliged immediately with a quiet nod. Without another word to any of them, they marched away through the grass toward her quietly worn Civic.

"I don't want you to go, Axel."

Like everything about Aerith, it was said with quiet countenance.

"I know you don't. And if I could hide out with you, I'd stay, but I know you want to go wine and dine with the others at the mansion and that's the one place I don't want to be, even if you're there."

The smile that tugged at the corners of her lips was a sad one. "I don't blame you. The gossip is all there's going to be tonight. She looked ready to kill Reno when he started talking about you."

"I know. I could have just quietly sneaked through the evening being a foreign cousin but not now." He shook his head and cast a glance behind him toward the white tent, where the rest of the people gathered there were now starting to disperse like the ones before then. The shock of red hair was easy to spot, as Reno traipsed back toward his car, Angela following him and saying something to his backside. Perhaps they were arguing. Or perhaps Angela was just commiserating the loss of having a treasured son at the big shebang tonight. The first was the most likely, of course. "I guess he wanted to just edge in a word against his mother."

Aerith, who had been walking, her head down, looked up now. "I don't think it was just because of his mom, Axel. Reno's a lot more caring than you give him credit for."

He remembered what he had said about his mother, about the money, and thought about if it was true. It probably wasn't. It couldn't be. Angela would surely find out and put a stop to it if she knew. His mother wouldn't tell him, though. She never told him anything, not since she'd sobered up a few years ago and stopped blabbing about her sex life in front of him, which he was glad to have had a stop in, but she revealed more than she ever remembered and probably more than Reno even knew.

"I'm sure," he said, perplexed. "But I don't understand why he wants me to stay. I explained to him, very calmly might I add, the situation and how I am oh so shy in front of people and he still doesn't get it."

"He's got a thick head like you," she said, again that little smile tugging at her lips as they reached the car and she unlocked the doors. "I thought you'd know that."

"Thick head like me? Baby, my head's so soft a baby could break it."

She laughed at that and they got into the car. Aerith, unlike Reno, was a calm, normal driver, and as the afternoon started to turn the clock into evening, she rolled down the windows to let the breeze float through. It really had not been funeral weather at all. Rain would have been far more appropriate. They made it back to Reno's apartment in under twenty minutes and Axel used Aerith's spare key to unlock the bedroom and change from the hot suit into a pair of jeans and a shirt. When he came back down the stairs carrying his suitcase after making a quick phone call, Aerith was frowning at him.

"The both of you," she said, shaking her head as they pulled out of the apartment complex. "You need to eat more, Axel."

"I eat like a pig."

"Well, then eat like two pigs. You're so thin." To prove her point, she jabbed her fingers into his side and he recoiled, startled. "There. I can probably feel your ribs if I tried."

"So? Do we have a problem?"

"Have you seen a doctor lately?"

"No, my obi-gin doesn't feel the need to see me regularly, says my lack of periods is totally normal for a growing boy of my age."

She fixed him with a pointed stare and he dropped his eyes. "No, not lately. I feel fine. Very healthy. Fit as a fiddle and just as strong, too. I'm perfectly okay."

Still frowning deeply, she returned her eyes to the road. "Fine. But you should see a doctor, Axel. Just in case."

"Yea, I probably have cancer."

"Axel!"

"Just kidding, just kidding."

He'd managed to book a flight out of the smaller airport, so that he didn't have to deal with the circus that was Los Angeles International. Aerith expressed her guilt at not being able to accompany him and wait for him until his plane took off, but he told her to go ahead and go enjoy herself at the mansion, because the food was probably going to be fantastic. She did not look at all pleased by that comment so he instead focused on Thanksgiving and said he'd be around for a whole five days instead of two this time. She hugged him in the drop off lane and sent him on his way.

Security took about half an hour, but he was cleared for check in and like he always thought when he got on a plane, he felt like he should just life his head and suddenly shout something completely inappropriate like, "Praise Allah!" Entirely inappropriate and it would probably put him into a jail cell for a few years out of his life which he might have considered last year but right now he had his whole life ahead of him. He boarded the plane and fought his way into his window seat. He was pleasantly jammed up against an obese customer and when he discretely inquired about moving, he found out that the plane was packed and there were no seats available. He took out his music player, plugged in the small white earphones, and leaned against the window, looking out into the darkening sky.

They'd be in the air for seven hours and he'd step off the plane at six in the morning, back in Brooklyn. He'd been able to purchase a Greyhound ticket for eight and he'd be at the bus station by seven. Closing his eyes, he leaned heavily against the window, trying to ignore the sweating man beside him and the crying baby a few rows over. Just like sheep, the wandering all gathered on this plane and bleated about their woes. A quick round of nerve gas would take care of that. That would have been far more effective than ever slamming any type of plan into any building. Biological warfare was Axel's favorite. Aside from simply burning a place, that was it.

The plane roared to life and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, nails digging hard into his own palm until the plane righted itself and they were cruising. The seatbelt lights went off but Axel kept his on, eyes still closed, forehead pressed against the window. He could already feel the indention marking into his forehead but that was fine. He was drifting now, light as air, and as he did he could hear a voice in his head, an echo of a voice really, and it was deep and sorrowful and there was a hand running over his fevered forehead, whispering that everything was going to be okay, everything was going to be okay, just be still and calm down. And there was a zoo and the backseat of a car where he was crying and somebody else, somebody else with messy red hair just like him sitting in the front standoffishly, but they were driving and he felt it like he was floating, floating now, and then he was sweating again, fevered and in pain, but the hand was cool and that voice was calm and it was echoing something, something that was three words but not exactly three thoughts, one thought, and it might have been _I love you_ but it would have been just as fine if it were whispering _you'll be okay._

__

He smelled like smoke, which irked him, because for one, he didn't smoke, and secondly, if he went into that room and his mother smelled him, she would throw a hissy fit and Roxas not in the mood for a hissy fit at the moment. There had been no seats left on the bus and Roxas had taken the only one left—the aisle seat that had been to the slightly obese passenger who was already drooling on the window and who smelled like smoke.

There had been no stops because the trip was only a few hours long and because the driver seemed in a particular rush to get into the city so the nervous man who had awakened about an hour into the drive had taken a cigarette and was rolling it around in his mouth, though he hadn't lit it. Roxas had been passed out, half falling out into the middle aisle and lost somewhere between a land of dreams and a land of shadows when he felt undeniable movement at his side. He'd nearly shouted for the cops when he'd woken up, half convinced the man was trying to rape him in his sleep, but as it was he only had to go to the bathroom. Roxas had stood to let him pass, sat back down again, dozed for about ten minutes, and stood up when he returned to let him pass again and when he sat back down again, the smoke smell was stronger than before.

Now here he was in the hospital, boredly watching the minutes tick away, trying to fight away the yawns that were constantly wracking his body. There was a coffee machine downstairs, the receptionist had said, but he might be allowed in to see his mother at any moment and she had been constantly asking for him since she'd arrive and just between him and the receptionist, she'd said that his mother was starting to becoming increasingly irritating for the doctors to handle and that she hoped he knew that and that they were counting on him to shut her up.

The receptionist looked young and Roxas didn't want to ruin her life by writing a complaint letter, but he was irritated. He smelled like smoke, he was tired, and he had to be on a bus the next morning to go back to Sunnydale to get into work on time and couldn't his mother have chosen to do this on some other day? One of his off days? Never?

That was asking far too much of her, obviously.

It would probably be too uncouth of him to ask the young receptionist for any body spray. He hadn't thought to bring any cologne since he was only planning on being down here for a few hours, but the smell of smoke was thick and his mother would probably get into a rant about that for two hours. Roxas brightened. If she carried on with that gem for a bit, then she probably wouldn't exploit out any other gems. That would be absolutely brilliant. Resigned to the fact that smelling like an ashtray was going to save his life, he slumped back into the uncomfortable chair, trying to doze off for a few moments.

"Roxas Hart."

Oh, he'd just closed his eyes.

"Roxas Hart, your mother's waiting for you."

He opened his mouth but stifled the groan. Shouldering his backpack, he went to the reception desk and she buzzed him through, pointing vaguely at some room in the back before turning her head back to the magazine she was reading. All she needed was some loud, crackling gum and bright red lipstick, maybe some high-heeled spiked boots, and she'd be all set and good to go to appear in some old movie with secretaries and bosses. How heinous wo Though he was only wearing his skate shoes, they still clicked loudly on the shiny linoleum floor. It was mainly quiet and he wondered why it had taken so long to bring him back to greet his mother. The room she was in did not immediately present itself to him; the receptionist had been quite, quite vague in her pointing. He felt like a balmy faced intruder as he cautiously looked into a room and then back out upon realizing it was not his mom. The patients who were awake would glare at him, as though condemning him for intruding upon their privacy; the quiet ones were out like lights. She must obviously be awake though, and he had nearly made it all the way down the hall before he came upon her room.

It was her voice that stopped him and he froze, listening to her speak. She was talking to her doctor, it seemed like, and rattling off a list of complaints about twelve thousand in depth. It was too cold, she was paying good money, the blankets were too rough and not warmed up, she was hungry, she wanted to sleep, her IV hurt, she wanted a painkiller, where was her cell phone, had one of those perverted wack jobs that they employed in the public health system taken a looksie at her private parts when they shifted her into the hospital dressing gown? The doctor was trying to answer fast as he could, but they just kept coming, faster and faster, and Roxas felt sorry for the poor man, but not so sorry that he immediately stepped into the room to rescue him. He was, after all, not his mother's keeper.

The tirade went on for another few minutes until Roxas looked back and realized the magazine reading receptionist had put down her magazine and was staring back at him, watching him incredulously. Great. Fantastic. As far as he was concerned he could stand out here all day and listen to his mother jabber, because any jabbering at someone else was better than a jabber aimed in his general vicinity. But she was watching him as though judging him and he contemplated flipping her off, but instead sucked up his breath and went forward, turning the corner sharply into the patient room.

"Roxas!" There was no mistaking the glee in Azuela Hart's voice. "Roxas, you came!"

"Of course I did Mother," he said automatically, going to his bedside and ignoring the doctor completely. She looked like she always did—big frizzy blonde hair to match big frizzy pale blue eyes, a thin body curled up underneath the white sheet and two different IV's running into the same arm. He cast a glance at them but decided to ignore them and instead leaned over the railing, kissing her cheek. She immediately stiffened at the act and her welcoming blue eyes had turned instantaneously accusing. "Roxas Hart, you smell like smoke. When did you start smoking? You know that's bad for you!"

"I don't smoke, Mother."

"Then why do you smell like it?"

"Because I was sitting next to someone on the bus—"

"Turn out your pockets this instant!"

"Mother, calm down. The doctor needs to—"

"This instant!"

She was staring at him petulantly and he looked to the doctor helplessly but the doctor looked back with no sympathy, as though blaming Roxas for his mother's behavior. "Doctor, what's the problem this time?"

"Nothing yet," he said, shrugging. "She checked herself in because she thought she was having a heart attack—"

"I had a heart attack you quack! You were there!"

"And," he continued, voice rising over hers, "we found out she wasn't but she's a bit dehydrated and we put a sedative—"

"I'll have you sued you fucking quack!"

"—in there too so she's fine. Dr. Paean should be down in about half an hour to talk this all over with her. There's really nothing else I can do. Do you have any questions, Mr. Hart?"

"No, thanks though,'" Roxas offered, massaging his temples and already looking around for the chair. It was one of the plastic ones. Damnit. Last he'd been here they had been the comfy throwback ones, donations from some sort of organization that the head doctor had seen fit to put into patient rooms, so thoughtfully. This was a regular plastic chair though and he wanted to just sight again but instead he offered his hand dejectedly. The doctor shook a little hard and Roxas took it back, grasping at the chair. "So she'll be okay until Dr. Paean gets in, correct?"

"Yes, sir. She'll be fine. The sedative is wearing off but we're keeping a minimal amount—"

"I don't want a sedative! Let me out!" She weakly thrust her fists out but Roxas automatically grabbed her narrow wrist and pushed it back down onto the bed.

"Thank you," he said loudly, "we'll be fine now." The doctor left, cast a glance back at Azuela Hart, and took off out the door like his feet were on fire. Roxas let his mother's hand go and went back to adjusting the chair, shoving it back against the wall and to the side so he could put his feet up on the sink. This chair wasn't so bad. It reclined a little, even.

When the doctor was gone, his mother immediately sat up straight, looking him in the eye. She had lost a little more weight than when he had last seen her, he thought dismally. Not that it had been long—she'd had a relatively good streak lately, and the last time he had been here had been about three weeks ago. His pocket had been relieved, and he'd even started to hope, just hope, that she might be making progress. But there was this now, and her voice on his machine had been demanding.

Then again, he should have expected it. Next week was the week, and she steadily declined as that time approached. He had begun to hope that maybe this time she was getting out of it, so it would be normal, this year, but he saw now it was only the fight before the fall. If it was a fight at all. The calm before the storm. You were supposed to get worse before you got better, but she never got better. Just worse and worse.

"So what's it today?" he asked her now, working hard to keep the sarcastic tone out of his voice.

She peered at him. "What do you mean? I had a heart attack, Roxas." Immediately her voice went hushed, and her eyes seemed to water. Roxas wanted to close his own, but resisted nobly. "A heart attack," she went on, with an amazed slant to her words. "I mean, Roxas, you could have been coming here to decide on funeral arrangements." And her voice slanted downward toward cracking and if Roxas had been a better son, he might have stood up and comforted her. As it were, he stayed where he was, and instead looked at the floor. Speckled with black dots, linoleum floor. He wondered if she'd had this room last time, or if the tiles had the same pattern, just repeated, every room. He squinted, trying to see if there was any pattern he recognized, but it had been three weeks and he didn't remember.

"I mean, I know that man didn't think so," she continued on, "but I just felt it in my bones. I remembered the way your father looked and I looked in the mirror and I felt I saw death looking back at me and I got so scared Roxas, so scared." Her voice was raw and misty, and Roxas sighed and stood up, going over to the bed to encircle her with his arms. Immediately she started to cry, arms going to clutch him weakly around the shoulders, tears dampening his shirt unpleasantly.

"What would you have done without me? I can't leave you, you're all alone here, and I—I don't want you to be along, Roxy, I can't bear the thought of you having to be here, with your mom and your dad, and I don't want to leave you yet either." Her voice was cracked, but she was still sobbing out words, harder and faster and Roxas clutched her like the good son he was. He could have pointed out he'd be fine. Could have pointed out he didn't need her, he was fine by himself, and he thought it was the other way around, she needed him more. Could have pointed out he considered walking off buildings to see if it was really the hard jolt at the end that killed him, or the fall.

But he didn't say any of that, because that obviously wasn't what she needed to hear. He held her, and let her soak his shirt, and when she was finished, he sat back on the creaky little chair and looked at the speckled floor again. She was drying her eyes with a tissue, sniffling, and when that was done she settled her sharp gaze on him, and the moment was gone.

"HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING, ROXAS? THAT KILLS YOU, YOU KNOW."

So would she, he was sure, one day.


	5. Part 5

Title: This Frenzied State [5/?]  
Rating: M  
Genre: Drama/romance  
Pairing: Axel/Roxas (AU)  
Warnings: Abuse of miscellaneous Final Fantasy characters. Seriously. Any mischaracterization is obviously all my fault.  
Summary: When Roxas stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see into some eternity. When Axel stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see how he'd survive a fourteen floor fall.

Author's Notes: So basically the week before last my life sucked hard (car broke down, home problems, what have you) and this past week I went on a roadtrip through California. So, that's why this took so long. You may now nom on me. Any errors in this are all mine, I'm sleepy and should probably just wait to finecomb this but I feel that since I have time I should put it up. I haz no beta, so blame is all mine. If I had a beta, you could blame that person. In fact, I'm just gonna say I have an imaginary beta and you can blame her. She reads a lot of porn and thus, her brain is shot. Also, there is an extremely, _extremely_ slightly changed version of this on livejournal. When I say extremely changed, I mean a few sentences. There's no real reason for that except I made changes directly onto that template and now I forget what they are, except that I made them. I win. LJ link is on my profile. Say hi. :) This part gets kind of rambly, concrt is encouraged, feel free to ask questions, may or may not answer, same old same old. ;)

Second note: The title of this comes from a song called Response by this band called Barcelona. Uploaded the track to megaupload and link is at the LJ version of this, which you can get to by going to my profile. :3 Check it out. They're amazing. Enjoy~

Sidebar, I went to Japantown in San Francisco this past week and saw Sora and Riku and Mickey Play Arts. Why no Roxas or Axel? I was saddened. Sidebar, out.

* * *

The bus station was crowded. Roxas had stopped smelling like smoke, thanks to his mother's perfume that she had sprayed on him when he had least expected it. It was still impossibly unbelievable to him that she refused to acknowledge her condition: she had a hospital bag always packed and sitting in the closet by the door, strap always standing sprightly up so she could sprint to her car and race to the emergency room. To her, it wasn't part of a condition: it was simply always being prepared when her bad health decided to turn south on her. It was tragic, really, the amount of time she spent in the hospital. She could have such a full life and she often talked eagerly about the places she wanted to visit, like Australia or India or Canada. She had always wanted to go to Canada and eat a waffle with maple syrup, just so she could say she had eaten maple syrup in Canada. Just once in her life, and it was all she wanted.

Roxas considered it especially tragic that she could fly for free (his job, while incredibly boring and suicide provoking, had some more than enough perks) and refused to because she was simply afraid of when her health would fail her. What if it failed her, oh heaven help her, while she was in India where people left babies out on the corners to die and the only doctors around would be doctors charging her thousands and thousands of yuris to simply give her two herbs to grind together over her forehead to make her heart attack stop? No, if her doctor couldn't go with her (and what doctor in his right mind would?) then she wasn't going to go, anywhere, ever.

In any case, she had squirted the highly potent concoction onto his hair when he had passed out on the chair for a few minutes and he hadn't woken up until she had thoroughly doused him with the lilac smelling stuff. He had raged at her and she had simply looked at him with those big blue eyes and nearly cried, because it wasn't her fault, she was trying to look out for him, trying to make sure he succeeded in life and got a good career because he'd not yet had one and his father had, and didn't Roxas want to make him proud?

It had caused a headache that wasn't helped by the lilac smelling perfume and in fact, he was quite aggravated by it. He could already tell that he was irking some of the people he was sitting next to; they were pointedly rubbing their foreheads and describing in very clear detail about how perfume always made their heads hurt and they wondered if they could kick the offender off the bus or at least shower him/her with another type of spray that wouldn't give them a headache. Roxas was quite content to not move, however, and he wondered if they knew it was him or they were just raging at the world in general. Roxas generally considered himself a happy person with a tendency to lean more often toward unhappy times. He generally considered everyone else to be unhappy people with tendencies to be either happy or bitch a lot, like the ones sitting around him.

The morning air was dewy and the bus was scheduled to depart in twelve minutes. At least the bus was still here. He could see it through the glass windows, people cleaning it out and making inspections to the tires and underneath. At least it was here, because one of the last times Roxas had taken the Greyhound, it had been an hour late and it had smelled suspiciously like Lysol by the time they were able to stow their luggage and take their seats. He had been running late then and so he was boarded nearly last and got the happy privilege of sitting next to the bathroom, where the smell was the worse, and he'd nearly passed out from the fumes by the time he had arrived back in Sunnydale. It had been a long, painful bus ride and Roxas was determined to never, ever have to sit in the back again, something he'd stuck good on for the past few rides he'd taken. Right now he was fifth in line to board, which very nearly guaranteed him his own seat. The line actually wasn't very long and it was probably because it was a Thursday morning. Who usually went out on Thursday mornings? Until now, not Roxas.

The double doors slid open and Roxas surged forward, standing impatiently as the others stowed their cargo underneath. He was the second on and made a beeline for the first set of seats, firmly planting his backpack in the one he wasn't occupying and staring down the line of passengers who were shifting through the door. It only took another minute or two and a quick glance behind him said most of those seats were filling up. The group that had been sitting around him sat behind him and then quickly stood up, muttering something about lilacs and headaches and Roxas thought they should just go and cry to their mothers, because it wasn't his fault that his own mother had doused him with her expensive perfume that he had gotten her for last Christmas. Him being doused with it truthfully hadn't been the intention in buying it, either.

The driver strolled up a second later and Roxas sighed happily, leaning back in his seat and ready to close his eyes and get in a good two hour nap on the way back. Nobody was pulsing over the seat next to him, no one was bothering him, the air was actually semi cool and he had extra room to stretch out. He deserved this seat, didn't he? He left one hand cautiously on his backpack, in case someone tried to snatch it up and run off with it to the bathroom. Maybe the lilac haters would snap it up and be knocked unconscious on the way to the bathroom by the smell and Roxas could laugh triumphantly in their faces. Alright, maybe he wouldn't do that, but he'd want to. There was nothing like laughing in the faces of lilac-haters.

He heard the bus rumble to a start and he put his headphones on without thinking too much about it, or about his mother, and about how next week he'd be making this same trip. It wasn't the first time in his life that he'd wished Sunnydale was big enough to have some type of major airport. The closest was in Brooklyn and there was nothing he could do about it, he supposed. He'd just have to move to Brooklyn but, as always, he banished that thought from his mind because moving to Brooklyn meant moving closer to his mother where she could unexpectedly pounce on him and spray him with her pleasant lilac perfume and he'd hate himself for days on end because of her ever constant tirade of how she just wanted him to succeed and do well in his life and shouldn't he be trying to make his father proud?

Yes, exactly, that's what he'd always wanted to do, make his father proud, because what good was a life if you couldn't live to serve the memory of your dear and departed ancestor? He was sinking into the seat a little further, hand on the backpack going a little bit slack, and he could feel something like a cloudy dawn trying to reach and creep surreptitiously over his brain. He let it, because he should sleep, but he was falling into the annoying sleep, the one that lingered on the cusp between unconsciousness and alertness. Shouldn't he be trying to please his dear and departed ancestor, and shouldn't he be taking responsibility of his ill mother and trying to please her and help her and be there for her when she was sick, even if it was every other day? What kind of son was that? It was troublesome and he remembered his father, vaguely, and there were still words floating on the breeze and they were three words and they were probably something as corny as _I love you _but Roxas hoped they were something as noble as _You're doing fine _because then he wouldn't have to worry about anything again, or worry about how the hospital his mother always stayed at was seventeen floors and that you could get to the roof and the padlock was a flimsy little one and that it would give with a kick and that there were absolutely no pigeons around the hospital because the hospital seemed to have a beef with pigeons and had either set up poison traps on the roof or at least released some type of majestic predator bird… he wouldn't have to worry about any of that, because he was doing just fine, just—

"Hey buddy, is this seat taken?"

Roxas nearly jumped out the window when the voice intruded upon his semi-sleep. His head, in any case, went banging into the glass and he cussed, rubbing it as he looked blearily up into the person that had interrupted his sleep. The guy standing there was probably a little older than Roxas, and bone-thin. He was wearing a thick hoodie and carrying a backpack, but the things that got to Roxas were both the tallness and the flaming red hair that was falling messily all over his face, like some sort of crazy red-tinged mosquito net. He looked weary and was currently standing there, trying to get into the seat that Roxas had fought for and was not about to give up.

He tried to wait it out in some sort of pathetic confusion but the guy didn't move, and Roxas finally gave in and glared at him without much malice in it and said, "Fine, yea, of course." Grabbing his backpack he threw it on the floor in front of him and pushed that under the seat, scooting over as far as he could into the window, though it didn't look like this guy would be a problem. Rail thin, and when he sat down, the gap between them could fit a small child.

"Thanks a lot buddy," the guy said, putting his own backpack on the floor in front of him and starting to flit through it. "I was running a little late, had a plane that decided to take a circle around New York for a little sightseeing and then finally landed and I'm like, oh, come on now, I have a bus to catch, gee."

Oh, no.

This guy was the one of _those guys. _Of everything Roxas could have gotten.. of all the ones that could have sat next to him… he would have taken the lilac haters, he would have taken his own mother—or not, she was just as bad, she was also one of _those guys_—over this one. He wasn't obnoxiously loud and even what he was saying wasn't so bad but…but…but… he was still just sitting there blabbing on about his morning and Roxas was not in the mood.

"Oh, that's nice," Roxas offered, reaching under his own seat to pull up his backpack again and retrieve his headphone and music player and maybe that would make him shut up.

"Yea, I know, I'm glad I got here in time. It's not like I have anything to do today, but I mean, I want to go home and sleep… I flew back from Los Angeles and while it was quite a lovely flight, I'm looking forward to sleeping a little."

"Me too," Roxas said forcefully, digging frantically around in the bottom of his bag for the MP3 player.

"Yea." The guy put down his backpack and ran his fingers through his hair, slumping back into the seat like a kid. At least he wasn't fat. Small blessings. Even if they were politically incorrect small blessings, they were still small blessings. "Do you smell that? It smells….like flowers."

Roxas eyed him dangerously and contemplated his options for escaping the current situation. He tried to subtly look over the seat but height was not an advantage in that and he wasn't able to adequately see if there was anywhere else to move. If the guy had taken the seat next to him, though, it was probably a safe bet to say that the two seats on either side of the aisle were all at least occupied by one person and he wasn't going to be able to recoup his own two seats. Lame. Lame lame lame. Could he break the window and jump out? He felt his heart deflate when he realized that the bus was rolling to a start now and was pulling out into traffic and to jump out now would be suicide. Great, just what he wanted. And besides, there was work in a few hours and after that he still had to go to Demyx's damn party but at the moment that wasn't looking so bad, because anything with alcohol at the moment was going to be damn well worth it. He could, of course, go back and sit next to the lilac hating people just to spite them.

"Yes, I know, who knows what that could be," Roxas said shortly, still unsuccessful in finding his music player.

The guy smiled. "I'm not complaining," he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. "I'd rather smell that than say, oh, a sweaty, hairy guy. Not that I'm saying there's anything wrong with sweaty hairy guys. Flowers are just more pleasantly fragrant. Or least, in my opinion. Is that a little too gay of me?"

Roxas looked at him with a loss for words.

"Sorry, I guess that was a little too personal. What are you looking for?"

He had zipped up on pocket in frustration and was now pawing agitatedly through the other, nearly shoving his face in it. "Just my music player," he replied shortly, hoping that the guy would take the hint and leave him alone.

But of course not, because _those guys_ only had room in their brains for one thing and that was, of course, to keep talking.

"Need a light?" the guy volunteered, and from his pocket came a lighter that was shoved ungracefully in his face.

Roxas gave him a look. "Why would I need a lighter?"

"To get light? I mean, your backpack's pretty dark. Not that I'm knocking the backpack or anything, but shadows do that to you, or at least, that's what I hear."

"No, I'm fine." Could he sound colder? Could he maybe make his voice sound just a little bit more deeper? "Really. I'm fine. Thanks, though."

"No problem."

The guy seemed content enough to leave him alone for a second, a second in which Roxas was able to conclude, with quite a sinking heart, that damnit, he didn't have his MP3 player. He wanted to close his eyes and scream because now he could very clearly remember where it was. He'd taken it out in his mother's hospital room to put it on while she sniped at him. He could hide the buds under his hair and she would never know that while she was singing at him to get a better job and get back in school that he was listening to angsty teenaged music that screamed about abusive fathers. When she had made a particular startling point and looked at him for support, he'd pulled them out of his ears and set it on the counter to cover the fact that had, in fact, not been listening at all.

And now they were back in Brooklyn and probably hanging off the ears of some orderly.

"Fuck," he said, quietly, slumping bonelessly back into his seat because honestly, what now? It was a shame they weren't in London, because he had never tried jumping off a two story bus before and who knew what kind of shiny happiness that brought along? Who wouldn't want to jump off a shiny two story bus into a pavement that was flying by in a blur?

"Can't find it?"

Roxas again fixed him with a pointed look, one that seemed to fly completely over his head. He was looking at him with genuine concern, however, so Roxas sighed and ran his own hand through his own messy hair. "Nope. Think I left it at my mom's. Damn." He made a half-shrug, trying to find a successful way to close the conversation. "Oh well. I can sleep without it and I'll just get it next time I see her. I can really sleep without it though," he reiterated, already pushing his head toward the window.

"You can borrow mine," the guy volunteered.

"No, that's fine," Roxas said in alarm, but the guy was already yanking his own backpack up into his lap and unzipping one of the pockets. Roxas spluttered a few more times, trying to get him to stop and explain that really, that was completely unnecessary but the guy was persistently ignoring him and still going through his bag in complete and utter disdain for what Roxas was saying. A moment later he emerged with his own MP3 player and offered it to Roxas.

"No, no, I'm fine," Roxas said hastily, shaking his hands and shying away from the outstretched gift. "Really, I'm fine."

"Don't be ungrateful, kid," the guy said, but he was grinning.

"_Really,"_ Roxas said, now annoyed. "I'm fine. It's yours. You keep it."

"Suit yourself." That obnoxious grin was back on the guy's face and Roxas looked bleakly out the window. They weren't even to the highway yet and he had another two hours to kill with this guy. Would he really leave him alone and just let him sleep? Not that sleep was probably going to happen because contrary to what he had explained, sleeping _did not_ come easily to him without music, usually. He attributed the first drowsy thoughts when he'd first gotten on the bus to pure exhaustion but that was gone and he was awake now, thanks to this clown. That's exactly what he looked like. He was tall, incredibly skinny, had flaming red hair, big green eyes, and was very, very pale. A clown.

"So where are you headed?"

Oh, no. More. Conversation.

"Up north," Roxas said shortly.

"Oh, me too," the guy continued, seriously. "I'm going to visit my aunt. Haven't seen her in awhile, I'm a bit nervous. I kind of just wanted to go home and curl up in bed, though. The last few days have been rough."

Roxas nodded in what could have been sympathy or a brave attempt to keep a straight face that was not full of murderous intentions. The guy slumped further back into his seat, swinging up his long legs to rest against the banister that lined the stairs that was right in front of them. Roxas saw the driver's eyes twitch, but then refocus on the road. Great. Not only was he stuck with an idiot sitting next to him, the driver didn't even care that he was plaintively breaking the rules. And if the driver didn't care about that, then what else didn't he care about? Stop signs? Red lights? The speed limit? The cars in front of them? Heaven only knew what kind of trouble they were going to crash into.

"Have you ever taken one of these before?" the guy continued, still in that conversational tone that Roxas never wanted to hear again.

"I take them a lot," he replied, again as shortly and curtly as he could, finally dropping his backpack to the floor in defeat and sliding it back underneath the seat.

"Yea? This is my first time. I usually fly places but this place is sort of out of the way I guess. Which is okay, I've never been on a bus before. It's sort of exciting."

If riding in a bus packed full of perfectly unknown, smelly, strange people was sort of exciting, Roxas really didn't want to know what kind of dull, pathetic life this guy led.

"Are you trying to sleep?"

The question was completely unexpected and Roxas forgot all manners and simply stared at the guy sitting next to him, who was watching him with those earnest green eyes. He was sort of smirking, but it had no malice or bite to it, or at least none that Roxas could see.

"What," he said, after Roxas had simply stared at him for a good ten seconds, "do I have something in my nose?"

The question was said so seriously that Roxas couldn't help but make a chuckling sound that quickly turned into an embarrassed snort. "No, no, you're fine."

"Oh. Well, are you?"

Roxas almost took up the staring position again but remembered what had happened last time and instead shook his head, remembered what he had been trying to do himself originally before this clown had sat next to him, and then nodded, fervently. "No. I mean, yes. I am trying to sleep. Don't know if I can though. I don't do well without music."

Well, fuck him in the backseat.

The guy raised an eyebrow. "And here I was, offering you my soul practically and you were over there just denying it. Here, I'm not going to use it." And he again extended the music player in his hand. "I mean, if you find my music offensive that's one thing, but just clear out denying it is just plain mean. I mean, I could be giving you heart and be dying over here and you'd just be like, no thanks, even if you needed it and there I'd go and just pucker up and kick the bucket for nothing. You've got to put things into perspective like that sometimes. No need to feel bashful, kid."

Sort of mesmerized by his voice and the fact that he could simply keep talking for so long, the "kid" part snapped him out of his daze. The guy probably only a year on him, two tops. But the speech, or whatever you called the pattern that the words coming out of his mouth were in, sort of stirred him and he took the MP3 player out of the guy's hand, being careful not to let any of his skin linger more than was necessary. One innocent touch and watch, this guy was going to turn into a creepy stalker who would smile at him quite suggestively once they were off the bus and suggest a hotel room and then Roxas would have to call the cops and frankly, no thanks.

"Thanks," he said, which still came out shortly and he tried to remedy that by saying, "I really don't have to, you know. I'll be fine."

Again with that raised eyebrow. "Didn't I tell you that I'm giving you my heart and all this has to be put into perspective?"

This time Roxas was a little annoyed, and instead just muttered, "Yea, I got it. Thanks."

"No worries. You know how to work it?"

It was the same as Naminé's, so he nodded and said, "Yea, I got it. Thanks."

The guy waved his hands. "Go ahead and go to sleep. You look like you need it." A pause, and then a hastily added, "I mean, you just look tired. I'm sure I look tired. My hair feels kind of deflated too. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."

For the first time, Roxas sort of actually smiled. "No, I got it. I look like shit. Don't worry, you do too."

For a second, Roxas felt like he'd said the wrong thing and that this guy was now going to fly off the handle and either A) strangle him or B) start molesting him right in front of that damn bus driver who would probably be content to either A) let it keep happening and pretend he didn't see it or B) turn around to watch and simultaneously crash the bus into a barricade. But no combination of those options happened, and the guy just smiled back. "Yea, I know. I hear that a lot."

Roxas just offered a smile, and started to mess around with the MP3 player while the guy pulled his hood and started to burrow as far back as he could into the seat—more than he already was, which was really quite a futile gesture. There was something to be said about clowns, maybe. Roxas had never been fond of them as a kid. It was a bit cliché but they had never floated his boat or rocked his world. He supposed that had to do with his mother a lot. Her hair today had been deflated, but when Roxas had been growing up that hadn't been the case at all. Azuela Hart was fond of many things, but most of those things were cosmetic and of all the cosmetic things a woman could undergo, she enjoyed dyeing her hair the most and so Roxas had seen it through many shades and styles, and along with the pale makeup and bright, popping lipstick she used to wear, she had sometimes looked so very much like a clown that the other kids would laugh at Roxas.

Not that he ever really considered the laughing, but it was something when he could sadly look at his mother and think that they were right.

In any case, the guy sitting next to him seemed to have given up the conversation now that he had successfully surrendered the MP3 and was pulling up his hood and leaning his head to the other side. Roxas tried to look so guilty as he thumbed through the choices; the guy had given it up willingly, after all. His heart and all that. The choices weren't so bad; Roxas was one of those who was under the impression that the type of music a person listened to said a lot about their personality and flipping through the choices on this player spoke a bit to him. He was mostly an alternative fellow with some heavier and lighter tastes, but Roxas was happy to not have to file past much rock. After awhile he settled on a blue-sy type singer with a throaty voice that was soothing and mournful all at the same time. He rested his head against the window, watching the gray morning slowly now start to turn into dawn.

The guy in his ear was quiet and soulful and a little bit of vengeful, or at least that's what Roxas heard, and the gray world outside the window was slowly turning fuzzy, like it had when he'd first gotten on this bus a little while ago. The sky was turning darker shades of gray and the orange and purple had mostly disappeared but Roxas could remember a time when those shades had always been there, like an eternal sunrise, and he could remember a happy hand on his head as well as a strict voice, like the scratchy, gruff tone in his ear now, and now it turned to a low growl, more of a threat than a promise, and the hand that had been on his head lifted and it was replaced by cruelly manicured fingers that pried and closed, hard, into his scalp. The gray sky disappeared, slowly, and turned into a bright sun that was slowly starting to fall from the sky and like before, he could hear words, but they had multiplied, and they were going through his head, again and again and again, just as the gray sky faded from view, _he's dead._

__

The kid had an animated way of sleeping, Axel would give him that. The moment his face had fallen against the window there had been weird noises coming from his throat and it had to be hell for the girl that slept next to him at night, because they were constant, and he couldn't shut his eyes tight enough to block them out. He pondered waking the kid up, but that seemed silly now that the sole reason he'd forked over his MP3 was so that he could go to sleep. Axel had slept plenty on the plane, but he tried to shut his eyes and drift away again anyway, because now he had nothing to keep himself occupied for the next few hours. The kid looked like he had needed it, though, at least more than Axel had needed it. The silky little whimpers the kid was emitting were starting to drive him crazy and he pried his eyes open a few minutes after closing them, admitting defeat in the face of an unconquerable foe.

The gray sky was starting to lighten over the horizon and Axel shifted in his seat to get his phone. He flipped it open and tried to access the internet, but the signal was all wrong so he tried to file through the pictures and see if there was anything worth looking at that he hadn't looked at in awhile. There weren't very many, and there were none of his dad, but there were a few of Reno a few months back, when Reno had come to visit Cloud. He had been very frank about the whole affair and Axel hadn't blamed him—Cloud was one of his best pals and Axel got to see him a lot, whereas Reno didn't, so Axel better buzz off if he wanted to keep his pretty face intact. Axel had called Reno a pervert for checking his little brother out and Axel had gotten decked for it anyway.

It occurred to him while he starting to really get into his game of a bouncy yellow ball and the center of the earth and some chick (who the bouncy yellow ball just couldn't give up for dead because damnit, bouncy yellow balls never did) that he should probably check his phone contacts. He paused it in the middle of a really juicy moment involving a Venus fly trap and a terrified expression and started to roll through the contacts, pausing on the contact he had wanted to be sure he'd had. She wouldn't be too surprised when he dropped in on her, he reckoned at some length, because of all the members in his family, she had shown him the most interest and the most care, sometimes even more than his own mother, who was happier to simply just drown her sorrows in some whiskey. He hadn't visited her in her own home since before he could remember—she'd always make the trip to Brooklyn to come see him—and he didn't have her address. How could he explain his sudden appearance? He didn't know. He was already booked for this evening, but he had all day to kill and he'd like to kill it with her, because she was the only one who apparently was going to answer the question he'd nearly killed Reno to answer.

He pushed the call button and pushed it up to his ear to listen. It must have been a cell phone, because something—or somebody—was singing in his ear in an high pitched shriek and he immediately remembered that his aunt was, for all intents and purposes, one of those women who enjoyed rap music and black men. It wasn't that Axel was discriminatory—on the contrary, he was the least discriminate person he knew but he was still human, after all, a human being, and people could fall directly into some categories sometimes. His whole deal with his categorization was that if you fit into obvious categories, then there of course, had to be less obvious ones. So his aunt fit into "single white female, cat lady" quite obviously on the surface; below that, she fit into the "wanna be gangster with a Glock and some bling" quite well also. It was more amusing to him than anything else and when he had brought it up on her last visit—about six months ago—she had very well taken off his nose for daring to ask. He'd kept his mouth shut ever since.

There was no answer to the phone but there was a perky message saying to leave a voicemail and she'd get back whenever she damn well felt like it. Knowing his aunt, that might take awhile, so he just told the machine that he was in town for a bit and needed a place to crash if that was okay with her and to call him back, hopefully before dark. That might give a sense of urgency to the phone call but knowing her, it might just as well not. For the first time since he'd disembarked the plane with a clear purpose in mind, he felt a little queasy about the entire prospect. He wasn't so worried about actually finding a place to stay should she not return his call—he had enough cash and he really didn't care if he missed his class tomorrow or the next day, really—but he felt a little queasy at the prospect of actually sitting her down and discussing with her what he had wanted to discuss.

It wasn't that she wouldn't give him the answers he was looking for. He hardly ever pried and when he tried hard enough, she melted underneath his looks like he was on fire and she was some poor snowman with inadequate dry ice to keep her going. He wasn't worried that she might call up his mom, even if his mom actually talked to his aunt, and even if she rarely spoke to Axel. The answers sort of scared him, because he'd be forced to take what Reno said as truth and heaven knew that if Reno was right or showed kindness about anything, then there was something definitely fishy about the entire situation. His brother would never do any harm or hurt someone on purpose, but doing something this… well, _noble,_ was different from him. The very fact that he'd have to go underneath his mother's watchful eye and defy her was impressive enough alone. And why would his mother even accept the money?

Axel shifted in his seat again, turning distractedly away from the boy who was speaking gibberish in his sleep at his side. The sky out the window was starting to lighten, though the low clouds were still turning the sky mostly gray and there might actually be rain in the forecast, with the way things were looking right now. Maybe it would start raining and the bus would crash because frankly, Axel had smelled something quite wrong when he'd first stepped into the bus and it hadn't been the lilac scent that the kid next to him had seemed to be doused with. No, he was watching the driver very, very carefully, and while he didn't necessarily fear for his life, he did sort of fear that he was going to lose precious daylight hours because the driver was going to need to pull over at the next Arby's and just let loose into their value menu. There was that option, and the storm option, which also might make him pull over and cite it was too dangerous to drive to take a nap, while the pavement dried in the next few minutes. Precious daylight hours to waste and all that, and it wasn't even that he really adored them, he would just rather find his aunt's house in peace before the night came and he was totally stuck.

Well, he wasn't totally stuck. He had a backup should that plan fall through and while he wasn't necessarily putting all his eggs into that single basket, he might as well prepare for the worst. Which might also involve a motel since he wasn't sure what the policy about meeting complete strangers was but he was sure it was something about "feeling uncomfortable" and escaping before that uncomfortable situation turned completely odd and erotic and totally not what Axel had wanted to do tonight. There were things he wanted to do tonight and those things had a very high alcohol level.

The kid was still mumbling when Axel tuned back into reality and he looked over at him for a second, wondering what he was dreaming about. It didn't sound like anything good and Axel wondered where he was going and why. He had a penchant for doing that, especially on airplanes, and this was sort of an airplane, a grounded airplane. Maybe the kid was going to a funeral. Or maybe he was going to pick up his girlfriend or a pet ferret. Maybe he had twenty seven pet ferrets and maybe he had a tattoo that had that number on him somewhere. All twenty seven had had different names of course but that would take up too much space and he wanted this tattoo to be beautiful and simple and he couldn't just get one drawing because he loved them all equally so he had just put the number because it was very simple and it would remind him all of the time of those ferrets he'd lost and loved and would never lose, at least in his heart anyway.

That was a good story, Axel thought, turning over and putting the hood back on his head, so that his back was to the kid. He let his head rest against the semi-soft material of the seat, looking out the window into the gray morning for a second. That was a good story, he thought, closing his eyes and trying not to concentrate on anything at all, but maybe he was just going home. That must be a good feeling. To just go home. Despite the sleep he'd gotten on the plane and despite the fact that he really wasn't into sleeping right here next to a complete stranger—he'd gotten his own two seats on the plane damnit—he felt his eyelids already sliding shut. Less energetic than he'd though and he'd have to get a damn Red Bull in Sunnydale, whatever the hell that town was called. Must be nice, to have a home in Sunnydale.

He could already imagine the signs, those picket type ones, the ones that said, "Just imagine, if you lived here, you'd be home already." Axel wasn't one for the home sentiment. And he really wasn't fond of the entire "I have no home so I must be full of woe" stereotype either. But there were times, and they were rare, but it was when he was on a sky bus or apparently now on this ground plane, rare times like this when he would sit and he would think and he would imagine that he would be going somewhere called home. There weren't many good associations with that word in his brain, but he thought if there were and if he ever got them, they'd be rosy, and sort of yellowed with light, because he could remember a time when they were. He was small and sitting down and someone was running that hand over his hair and he'd been crying and he was teary-eyed, green eyes full of dew drops, but that hand had been soothing, just like that gray sky out the window. He could see it through his thin, fluttering eyelids, but his head was slipping down the seat now, further, and he could fall out of the seat, like he'd fallen off his skateboard that day, fallen and skinned his knee, and that hand had been there, going soothingly through his hair and there had been that lofty, sort of quiet and gentle and strong voice, repeating those three words over and over again, and it hadn't been _I love you_, no, it hadn't been that at all because those words were foreign and thick and they had been a long time in coming and he'd put his faith in them. He'd put a lot of stock in _you'll be okay _and even if it wasn't and never was, he believed it anyway.


	6. Part 6

Title: This Frenzied State [6/?]  
Rating: M  
Genre: Drama/romance  
Pairing: Axel/Roxas (AU)  
Warnings: Abuse of miscellaneous Final Fantasy characters. Seriously. Any mischaracterization is obviously all my fault.  
Summary: When Roxas stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see into some eternity. When Axel stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see how he'd survive a fourteen floor fall.

Author's Notes: I'm sure it's not a surprise to anyone that I fail at life. This part's sorta long but it was either one long part or two tinny parts… and one tinny part in probably another three weeks, with the way I go, so here is a long one. Next part should be sorta long too.

Also I think I messed some stuff up in here, timing wise. Feel free to point it out. This is why I tell myself to not post stuff until I have it finished. Ah well. I'm dysfunctional. Sorta. And again, thanks for reading this. I do appreciate it. :)

* * *

"You look like death."

Roxas cast a glance up over the wall and tried to raise an eyebrow but the motion just aggravated the sensors in his face and he ended up turning it into a huge yawn instead. He had just been trying to read the some ticket rules to a customer so when he was interrupted, he forgot to put the call on mute and he carried on as though nothing had happened. When he finished, the guy was laughing at him. Now in a worse mood than before, he pushed his hold button and turned back up to Demyx, ready to unleash a wrath of awful words.

"So," Demyx was saying now, in sort of a singsong voice, coming around the wall of the sunflower yellow cubicle and into the cube itself, "guess what happened this morning, hot shot? Just guess. Go ahead, guess."

"Your mom called to say that she loved you," Roxas guessed, looking forlornly over at the empty cup of coffee that he just realized was empty. He'd gotten a call back as soon as he'd stepped off the bus. They weren't letting him off work. He was a miserable, miserable human being.

"Well, yea, I mean she does that every morning, but that's not the point!" Demyx was now staring at him, hard, and Roxas simply reached out and took the empty coffee cup and pried the lid off to peer inside. Apparently it had been empty for some time, because there was a brown stain on the bottom. He hadn't realized it. Had he been drinking from the empty cup or had had been sleeping with his eyes open again? He didn't remember.

"The point is," Demyx continued, and this time his voice was sort of still, "that I got a note put into my file. About you know, saying certain words to our passengers." He was glaring at Roxas now. "I blamed it all on you, you know, so Lexaeus isn't very happy with you and he had to put that note into my record anyway. He should be coming to talk to you soon."

"Oh goody," Roxas muttered, still looking a bit sadly into the empty depths of the cup, before raising his voice and saying, "I'm sorry. It was my fault."

The admission seemed to soften the edge that Demyx had come into the office with and he was waving a hand around now, sighing a little wearily, like he had just fought an epic battle against an octopus or a koala or some other fierce creature such as that. "It's okay. I just thought I should, you know, let you know that he's going to come and talk to you about it. It's not a big deal, just a little note. I've got a pretty good record, unlike yourself, so I'm not too worried about the whole thing."

"Oh." Roxas wasn't sure what to say to that. Was he supposed to apologize again? What he really wanted to do was to get up and sprint over to the cafeteria and refill his cup but he'd already wasted precious hold seconds listening to Demyx moan about something that Roxas had already forgotten. Not really, but it was easier to deal with the whole situation that way, because Roxas did feel very badly about what he'd done to Demyx's record because he did know that Demyx had a pretty good record, in fact, a damn good one.

"But you know, you owe me." The sharp edge had returned, but this time it was accompanied by a friend known as "revenge." "You can't skip out of the party tonight."

Roxas looked up indignantly. "Dude, I already told you, I'm dead. I'm beat. I couldn't go down two flights of stairs if I wanted to. I'm sorry, I'll do whatever else but I just got off a bus and—"

"No excuses!" Demyx's voice was unnecessarily loud and he cracked one fist into another to make his point. "No excuses, little man, you're coming whether you like it or not. There's going to be girls and alcohol and believe it or not, some of us actually _like_ your company and you just can't skip out of it. You owe me. It's just one night. Considering what else I could ask of you, I'd take this option as your best one."

There was disbelief in Roxas's face when he finally looked up from the empty cup. "I seriously doubt that whatever else you might do to me could be as bad as going to your party half dead."

"It's not _my_ party, Rox, it's _Xigbar's _and I've invited you because you're my friend and I think you should come. You hardly ever get out. Ever. And you do owe me. And I could a lot worse. Or Xigbar could and you've _know _him, right?" The gleam in Demyx's eye was absolutely deadly.

Slumping back in his chair, Roxas pictured Demyx's huge, one-eyed boyfriend, and remembered how big those hands were and how Demyx had once blurted out that Xigbar used to sell illegal firearms and how he'd once been a sharpshooter in some special branch of the government, or something like that, and how he still frequently polished his guns and went out to the range to practice killing things.

"You're threatening me with your boyfriend," Roxas said, with a half-raised eyebrow. "That's very manly of you."

"You wouldn't listen to me if I threatened you!"

Roxas considered, and then replied, "Nope, you're right. I'm still not going to your party."

"_Roxas_." Demyx's voice was slightly high pitched and whiny. Roxas couldn't see how Xigbar put up with him. Unless it was just because of his pretty mouth.

Sighing, Roxas massaged his temples. "Alright, I'm coming. Don't worry, I'll show up wearing bells."

A smile split Demyx's face and Roxas smiled back, for the first time genuinely in the entire day.

"Good," Demyx said, sounding positively beaming. "You never get out. I can introduce you to some new people. You're such a homebody, you need to get out more."

That killed the smile off Roxas's face in a second. "Hey, I said I'd come. Not get comfy cozy with your lame friends."

Demyx was still smiling. "Oh, we'll see about that." With that he turned and went out of the office and Roxas sighed, going to take his headset off hold when he heard a high pitched squeak and then Demyx's stammering, singsong voice, _"Oh, Lex! Yes, um, I don't know if he's in there, I just went in there and um… I don't know… I don't remember! He might or might not… I… well I just don't know!"_

Roxas took that as his cue to A) run away and hide or B) crawl under his desk and hope that Lexaeus didn't want to reach down from his supernaturally tall stature and peer underneath it. Both options were put to death the next second though, because Lexaeus was coming into his cube shortly after and looking at him seriously and saying quietly that he needed to come over to Lexaeus's office. Roxas nodded, all smiles, took off the headset and got up from his desk, following the tall man into the office.

Once they were inside, Lexaeus shut the door, sat down, and peered, still very seriously, at Roxas. Roxas tried to look innocent but knew it probably wouldn't work. Instead, he just sighed and said, "It was all my fault, Lex. I didn't mean to get Demyx in trouble and I'm sorry. It wasn't very professional of me and I won't do it again." He wondered what his punishment would be. Probably a note or his hours cut or something similar. Hopefully just a note because he couldn't afford to his hours cut right now.

Lexaeus opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, and when he opened it again, his eyes were sad. "Roxas," he said, in that same quiet, serene voice, "I'm afraid it's going to be a lot more severe than that.

Warning bells started ringing in his head and he said, in a very uneasy voice, "How severe?"

"Roxas," Lexaeus continued, with a deep sigh, one hand going up to massage his own temples, "I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go."

__

Of course she hadn't answered her damn phone, but that was to be expected. The sky was at the very ready to burst stage, the clouds hanging heavy and pregnant. The air was still extremely cool and felt light against his skin as he went leisurely down the sidewalk. The kid who had gibbered while in his sleep and taken his MP3 player for the ground plane ride had pointed him in the direction of downtown and while he was quite charmed by the antiquated feeling of the entire place, he was really just wanting to find something to do. He'd been wandering around the place for probably five hours now. He'd finished his book, gotten a sandwich, chatted it up with some old bird buying about a thousand yards of knitting string, purchased a cute little hair pin for Aerith, had two cups of coffee, and had an hour and a half nap in the bookstore before the lady had realized he was asleep and chased him out.

He wasn't worried at all about accommodations; he was a big boy but he was starting to feel like he'd perhaps been too impulsive in coming up here on such short notice. What if she had suddenly decided to take a holiday somewhere and wouldn't be back for a week? Although he had lied to his grandmother about urgently needing to go back to school (proof being that he was now here and definitely not at school), he sort of did need to return sometime in the next few days and his aunt was not the type to suddenly just jet away for a few days. No, she jetted away for weeks and weeks at a time. Maybe he was lucky and she'd be returning from such a trip tomorrow. Or maybe she was already here and just avoiding him. Maybe she was sleep. Or dead. Either would work, but Axel just really wanted to know if he should check into a motel or wait.

There were more reasons to wait, he thought, as he slumped down onto one of the benches that this town seemed quite fond of. He didn't know what was happening tonight and who knew, maybe she'd wake up or become undead and give him a call. It could happen. Wasting thirty dollars on a hotel room right now was stupid. It would give him a place to sleep in peace though. And something to do while he waited for her to answer.

His phone suddenly started vibrating in his hand and he looked down in surprise, wondering if his persistent and childish hope had actually worked and she was actually calling him. It was only a text message though, and it was written in complete chat speak. The number was one he didn't immediately recognize and the way it was written was making his head start to insert words where there should have been and erase characters that had no need to be in a message that was supposedly supposed to be in the English language. Axel's own text messages were impeccable. He could take a fine comb to them and point out every adjective and every hypothetical and he could deconstruct it and graph them. This one was not up to his standards and he was about to delete it because he didn't know the number, but the area code suddenly flashed in his mind and so he sighed and started to devote the needless energy that was required to decipher the thing.

_Hi! Hope u mad it on t1me. 3 hitmebck so I know ure down for 2nite. Shuld be fun, dont wurry, frendz are chill wit it. txtme. ~dncewterdnce_

It admittedly took Axel a second more than it should have to read it, but that second was spent staring at it in wonder. Why would anyone choose to converse in such a way? Not him. He finally realized who it was and tried to decide the best way to send a reply. He could attempt to write as off tangent and with symbols like this one was written, but that might break his brain more than it was already broken. He could resort to sending back the words spelled phonetically so that it would be easier to sound out—maybe that was the problem. Maybe this person just didn't speak English correctly, though he'd certainly had a good grasp of it on the phone. Maybe he should send a return reply in Spanish, English, Chinese, Japanese, and Korean. And Canadian, to be safe. Wait. What if he was blind or had a sight disability? Would the computer recognize the chicken scratch language he was returning?

At the end Axel finally resorted to just sending back a response in proper English, with appropriate spaces between sentences and complete with commas and apostrophes.

_I made it on time, thank you, though I was running late. I'll be able to come out tonight. I still need directions. Call me after you get off work so we can meet. Thanks. Axel._

It took only a few moments before he got a response and the response was written just the same as the first, with badly misspelled words, some damn near unreadable. He was finally able to deduce what this one said and got up from the bench as soon as he had. Well, that solved the being bored stage for now.

__

"This is exactly why you need to come out tonight."

Demyx was sounding A) resolved or B) completely without any other options for tonight's entertainment. Roxas didn't want to look at him, so instead he went back to rifling through the last drawer on his former desk. It was the last one he had to go through; everything else was already sitting in his backpack on the floor. There hadn't been much to clear out; he'd not been one of those to take his entire life to work. There was a calendar, a little charm that Naminé had made for him, some important papers he didn't want to let go of, and a few other things but for the most part, everything was staying here, where it belonged.

"You need to get smashed, Rox. And then tomorrow you can actually start thinking about it."

What Roxas was thinking about right at the moment was the roof of Naminé's apartment, and how he'd already taken the time to find out that the door could be kicked in.

"Please?"

"I don't owe it to you," he found himself saying, "because I got fired for it."

That shut Demyx up and when Roxas glanced up, Demyx's mouth was set in a soft little line and his eyes were sad.

He tried to soften because this was nobody's fault but his own. "Sorry. I didn't mean that. Honestly, I didn't mean that. It's not your fault. I just don't want to right now. I won't be happy and I'll be moody."

"You're moody all the time," Demyx interjected.

Roxas tried to glare at him but he found that he didn't have the energy even for that. "Still. I don't want to. I'm just going to go over to Naminé's. She'll know what to do."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I need to find another job and try to find a way to make rent before that and you know, figure all that out because it's gonna be pretty imperative I have it all figured out pretty soon."

Demyx's eyes were pained and he swiped a stray hair away from his face before shoving his hands in his pockets. Roxas sorted through the last drawer of the filing desk and saw nothing that he wanted in there—it was just papers and office materials and requisitions from a long time ago when his job had been more than just taking bitchy customer calls. Standing up he grabbed the backpack and shouldered it. The only thing in his locker was his skateboard and nothing else so he tightened the straps and went out, heading down the hall, ignoring Demyx. There was nobody to say good bye too, because he'd not liked anyone he worked with. He had to turn in his badge and headset and he'd be through with this place.

Forever, that was.

"Roxas."

The tone of his voice was faraway and wistful, but Roxas didn't turn.

"Is there anything I can do?"

There were numerous things that Demyx could have done to try and take the heat of Roxas's back for the call that would forever live in infamy, but there was nothing to be done about that anymore and Demyx had acted the same that Roxas would have. Demyx had a future with this company and Roxas had been killing time.

"No dude," he said, and his voice was fine and straight and there was even a lilt to it, "I'll call you tomorrow maybe. I'll figure something out."

The smile was soft and sad because Demyx was more of a girl than Naminé was and he waved, face still troubled, and then turned and started walking in the opposite direction. Roxas shoved his own hands in his pockets and went to the elevator, looking at the floor. He should have had a shovel and a casket for all the good this job had ever done him; he had the scarlet letter on his record now and none of it had been anyone's fault but his own.

The receptionist took his badge, gave him some forms, and told him that his access to his work account on the company's website would be valid for six months in case he needed any type of verification from it. Verification of what, getting the axe? That was most likely it. It was a reminder of his failure. He'd leave it as a bookmark on his favorite list on his computer at home and that way when he felt awful and like that it couldn't get any worse, he'd go ahead and take a look and see that indeed, he was more of a failure than previously thought, and then he could go ahead and just punch himself in the kidney. His insurance wouldn't expire anytime soon, so he could always have Naminé stab him and then claim it on the company tab. He could then cry unemployment, have a steady supply of pain pills handy, and live on Naminé's couch for perpetually forever. He had a sweet life ahead of him.

It took fifteen minutes to make his way to Naminé's apartment and when he reached the door and knocked, there was no answer. This was perplexing. She was always home on this day at this time. Oh great. Her day had probably sucked too and she was probably in a hospital somewhere, with a giant splinter in her foot. There were no new messages on his phone and he thought about texting her, because calling was so last century. There was also the problem that he thought his voice might start quivering at any moment, even if he had the whole "sound like the dead" thing down. He just didn't know anymore.

He chose neither option and instead did what he had been thinking about doing since Naminé had moved into this building three months ago: he took the elevator to the topmost floor, took the stairs another flight up, and used his skateboard to break the lock off the door to the roof. It came easily and dropped to the floor; the echo reverberated around the hallways but nobody came running. He opened the door and onto the roof.

It was a pebbly counter top, this one was. He'd seen this type before and he associated it with freedom and pain and bird feathers. It wasn't smooth and the rocks slipped into the cracks of his shoes as he made his way toward the edge. It was cloudy—it perpetually was around these parts—and the slight breeze worried softly against his cheeks, the air cool and the hoodie he was wearing providing the exact amount of warmth he needed. There were perfect moments in life sometimes, it seemed. None that were enough to stop Roxas from making his way steadily toward the skirt of the building, stopping just short of the edge.

Across the stretch of clear sky above and in front of him were more buildings, some high, some low, and Roxas should have gone to the highest one or at least chosen a different one. This one had been convenient though, more convenient than taking a dive onto the truck at work that he was so enamored with lately. The thought had immediately occurred to him to utilize the work building, because there was something fitting about the whole affair, something that the counselors at the camp in the mountains would probably shake their heads about and try to prescribe him different pills for whatever ailment that symptom fit into, but he hadn't wanted to waste any more time in the building than he had already wasted. And he wanted to see Naminé.

But she hadn't been there and now he was here on the roof, looking at the gray sky that was stretching for probably eternity over the ocean and around back behind him. There had been sky like this up at the camp in the mountain and they had told them to stop and look at it, look at it closely, and imagine that you were part of it and you were spread out throughout all eternity too, that you were the sky and the wind and the ocean and the clouds, and even those people far down on the sidewalk that he could see from his vantage point. You're them, you're the wind and the rocks and the trees and you're everyone and you're having bad days and good days and happy moments and sad moments and moments that make you want to come up on the roof on days like this to just take a flying leap off it. But you're part of that eternity, they had said, you're part of everything around you and everything in the world and when you died, you killed part of that eternity and that eternity was shared by everyone. You don't just end yourself, they had said, when you do that, you end part of the world itself and the world is a beautiful thing to waste.

In some part of his imagination, he supposed that indeed, you could think that way. For the most part, though, he didn't think like that and it hadn't worked. He could be a tree and a rock and hell, he could be the damn ant that he was going to crush on his way down. But he owed the ant nothing. Like he owed his mother nothing. He owed Naminé something, and Demyx something, and others, he owed them something too, but he owed the ant nothing and he wasn't part of eternity. He was part of right now and the world was not going to miss him in any big sense of the word. Naminé, Demyx, they might miss him, maybe he was going to crush parts of their respective worlds, but this world, nothing.

If the world was a beautiful thing to waste, then he didn't want to see what it had been in its prime.

The skateboard dropped to the ground as the pebbles crunched slowly underneath his feet, fitting into the crevices of his shoes as he stepped up on the edge and looked over. No ants so far but they'd be there when he got there. At least he'd have a welcoming party, like he'd had a welcoming party at the camp because support was important, the thing that you needed most in this world was support from others, others who cared and were supposed to be there, because he had something and it was worth being beautiful for. But there wasn't, really, wasn't really anything to be beautiful for and at least the ants would welcome him. Support could be defined in any terms that he chose.

It wasn't until one foot had toed the edge that he froze, hair startling to flap more urgently against his head. The ants were still on the pavement below he imagined, they hadn't gotten word that he was about to drop in on them like some crazed warplane from above.

But it was Thursday.

And he very suddenly remembered where Naminé was and where he was supposed to be.

The ants might be different when he got back, but they'd still be there, in force.

Reluctantly he stepped away from the edge, the sidewalk below and the out of focus people on the pavement shifting away from view. The graveled roof went crunch, crunching again as he bent to scoop up the skateboard. She had never failed him either. He spared one last glance at the eternity in the sky and went back inside, closing the door softly and picking up the lock he'd just broken like a fragile skull. He replaced the broken thing so that it was hanging inconspicuously the way it had been when he'd first arrived and then he went down the stairs and out the door, hopping onto the board and heading back the way he'd arrived from.

He had promised her that he wouldn't arrive in a casket.

It seemed a little too cruel to break that promise.

__

There were people who knew how to party, and then there were people like Demyx.

Axel grinned merrily at the man he'd just been introduced to, some man that Demyx had called Zexion who had gray hair and eyes colder than stone. He didn't appear to be in any rush to make Axel's acquaintance but Demyx had ushered along the whole episode quite smoothly. Zexion didn't have many words for Axel than "hello" and "fine," so Axel tried to steer away from him discretely, but Demyx had already grabbed his arm and was dragging him off into the slowly but steadily growing crowd of people.

The crowd they went through was the partying crowd; Demyx was the eager to please and carefree host who fretted about the beer and the wellbeing of everyone in his house. Not a big partier, Axel thought, his head getting whipped unsuspectingly into the broad back of another man as Demyx yanked him through the crowd. He barely had time to yell a sorry and that no, he wasn't trying to feel him up before Demyx had suddenly halted. Axel went crashing into his back and they both stumbled forward at an alarming rate and Axel had a split second to think, oh gee, this is unbecoming and quite sexual for someone I've just met, but suddenly he hit a rather solid force and heard a chortling, deep laugh.

"What the hell are you doing, Dem?"

The guy they'd crashed into was rather tall and very muscular. He'd be noticed just for those two attributes but the most striking things about him were a little bit higher. A scar split his face from the top of his short hairline to the side of his face and though it appeared quite faded, it was still very noticeable and that would have been all and even with that, he might appear not very different from any other man with a scar on his face, but there was also the eye patch that covered his right eye. The scar trailed underneath the eye patch and Axel wondered who the fuck had tried to scrap this guy's eye out with a razor.

"Introducing you to my new friend!" Demyx said brightly and Axel found himself jostled forward again. "This is Axel! Axel, this is Xigbar. He's my significant other."

_This guy's a fairy?_ was all Axel had time to think before his hand was grasped in Xigbar's giant hands and nearly torn out of the socket as they shook.

"Good to meet you dude," Xigbar said, in a very calm, lilting voice. "So how'd you run into this brat?"

"I'm not a brat!" Demyx objected, turning to face Axel full on. "Am I a brat, Axel?"

Axel blinked at him. Did he remember they'd only met about three hours ago? He rolled with it though, grinning, and said, "Of course you are, Dem."

That made Demyx's jaw drop and Xigbar roar with laughter, slapping Axel on the shoulder. The force made him go nearly tumbling back but he managed to keep his position and smiled his lazy smirk over at the taller man. "Yep, complete brat, Xigbar. I completely agree."

Xigbar grinned and grabbed Demyx and pulled him closer. "Stop pouting, we're just joshing you. So where'd you meet?"

Demyx was still pouting so Axel took the question, clearing his throat because the story sounded stupid in his own head. "Well see, I had to fly over to California a few days ago—"

"His dad died," Demyx interrupted, still looking miffed.

"Oh, sorry dude, that sucks."

Axel waved a dismissive hand in Xigbar's direction. "Thanks, it's fine. But yea, so I had this completely changeable ticket right, and so I had to call and change it because seriously dude, I didn't want to be in California any longer than I had to be, you know what I'm saying? So I called and changed it and Demyx picked up the phone—"

"_Again_, Dem?" Xigbar asked the question with mock outrage, but his voice was chuckling.

"I can't help it that I'm friendly!"

"You better not be."

"You know what I meant!"

"Again?" Axel questioned.

"Well, I can sort of see where this is going dude. You see Larxene over there?" He pointed to a short blonde woman with a high, arching ponytail who was engaged in conversation with a taller man with reddish hair. "Well, Demyx got Larxene on the phone awhile back to you know, change a ticket or book her a flight or do whatever the fuck they do over there and this bitch, get this, this bitch actually starts talking to him! And he invites her over after finding out she lives here! And I mean, that girl…" he trailed off, as though looking for the exact words to say, and then just raised his voice and yelled, "Oi! Larxene!"

She looked up from her position next to the man and looked across the room. Xigbar waved. She looked at him for another second, made a rude gesture, and then turned away, already back in her conversation.

"Yea well, like I said, not a very chatty girl that one," Xigbar said, rumbling another deep laugh. "But there you go. So you're not the first and probably won't be the last. Don't know how he does it. Gets you all talking and stuff." The last part was said fondly and he grabbed Demyx by the waist and pulled him even closer. Demyx squealed and made a half hearted attempt to escape but then gave up after just a moment.

"Well Axel wasn't the quietest one himself!" he said from his position enfolded in the bigger man's arms. "He just kept talking. He had Roxas first when he called a few times."

At the sound of the familiar name Axel tilted his head engagingly. "He didn't seem too happy that first time I talked to him. Kind of weird how I got him so many times.

Demyx burst out a high staccato laugh. "He was going absolutely nuts. He thought you were crazy and stalking him and had gotten his extension from somewhere. It was kind of funny. Roxas doesn't have a lot of patience," he concluded, with a troubled sigh. "He got fired today."

"What? Whoa little dude, what?"

Demyx nodded solemnly. "I guess it was kind of my fault. I feel bad. He came over to talk to me and we were messing around with the mute button and he pressed it and I said a fuck and of course I got monitored and Roxas said to go ahead and tell them it was his fault so I did and it was just the last straw I guess. They let him go. I feel bad."

Xigbar's face was hard to read, Axel thought, but that could be that he had known Xigbar for all of five minutes. "Not your fault, Dem. I'm sure you got heat for it too. He's not exactly the most shining example of a good employee they have, dude. Don't worry about it. Is he still coming?"

There was a shrug. "I told him to but he didn't seem too thrilled about the entire thing. Said he was going to go and was just going to chill out with his friend but I don't know."

"Well that sucks," Axel said, because he felt like he should say something of propriety and importance, "he should be here getting drunk. That would make everything okay for the night."

Demyx nodded. "Well, that's what I said but he didn't listen so I don't know. Guess I could text him. Night's still young, he might come out I guess."

"Hope he does," Axel said distractedly, watching the door open and two big men like Xigbar come strolling in, one with braids on his head and the other with silver streaked hair, "so I can apologize for the hell I put him through."

"Let me go get Xemnas and Xaldin," Xigbar murmured, letting go of Demyx and heading toward the door. Demyx murmured a protest but Xigbar patted his head and went anyway, already shouting a greeting.

"So we should do a shot," Demyx said immediately after he was gone, and then said in a conspiratorial tone, "Xigbar says I go crazy when I do shots. You want to do on with me?"

There should be careful consideration here. He hadn't yet discussed if Axel could stay, but he didn't intend to get too drunk anyway. His aunt still hadn't called him back and he was fine with getting a motel but if he could stay here…well, he didn't want to appear like a moocher in any sense of the word but one shot and a drink wouldn't kill him. "Lead the way," he said and Demyx smiled wide in approval and led him away toward the bar where the drinks were being dispersed.

A shot turned into two. He just had to do one with Xigbar too now that the jig was up and Demyx was discovered taking some. Then he had a beer. And then two more because he was a guest and he might as well make himself cozy. It was a big house after all.

So when it rolled around to about ten o'clock, he could still stand and he could still function quite properly, but he could also taste the sour taste in his mouth and his mind was looping in all kinds of circles, most of those circles not focusing on the conversation that Demyx was currently trying to engage him in, something about airplanes and how it just wasn't fair he got bitched at all day and how this was important to the wellbeing of mother earth or something like that, but most of those circles focusing on the memory of the past few days, because there were quite an awful lot of them. There was a lot of Reno, and Aerith's sweet voice, and some of Angela, but most of all there was just a gray window and rain, and so when it was ten o clock and he heard the door open, he remained where he was on the couch, brain not engaging in full conversation, brain not even all the way into the present when Xigbar tapped his shoulder from behind and he turned around to hear him mumble something and he uttered something like "what, can't fucking hear you" and then Xigbar repeated himself, saying, "Axel, this is Roxas."

__

By the time he had gotten to the art gallery he'd succeeded in falling onto the ground four times and he blamed the rain entirely for that, as well as the wind, because twice he had slipped on leaves, once it had been on too wet cement, and the last time, well, the last he'd just not been paying attention and had swerved to save a slow moving snail in his path and had gone crashing to the ground and been eye level with the snail and the slimy path behind it. There was dirt on his sleeves and back and he was damp everywhere. At least he was on time and when he entered the main gallery, he suddenly remembered why, _exactly,_ Naminé had wanted him here in person and not in a casket—the reason that wasn't just because she loved him, of course.

The painting in question was hanging right in front of the door, slightly set apart from the ones on the other walls. It was mounted in a gold frame with a plaque underneath it and even from this distance he could read Naminé's name in the fake gold lettering, along with the name of her collection, which was something cheesy like, _Summer in Sunnydale._ It was winter now and he just didn't get it but Naminé had gotten it and it was her opinion that mattered, wasn't it?

There were people slowly starting to trickle in, most dressed in their Sunday outfits, the ladies in dresses and the men in business casual or in very plain suits. He was suddenly very self conscious of what he was wearing, stained and dirty and wet and that painting bearing his likeness. He had refused to look at it so far and he wished he could pull his hood up so that nobody would realize that it was him but that would be childish and most people probably would decide that the kid wearing the hood was the kid in the picture because damnit, only people who didn't want to be recognized covered their faces and so logically, it had to be Roxas in the picture.

Or at least, that's what Roxas would have reasoned if he had been one of the new people trickling in.

She wasn't at first apparent; maybe she was making her grand entrance some other time but he was still looking for her and frowning when he didn't see her anywhere. He reached into his pocket for his phone but she was out in another second, appearing from a gap in the velvet sheets behind the portrait of his likeness. Immediately people tried to set upon her but she noticed him just as immediately and waved him to the side, an apologetic smile on her face as she turned to answer the questions she was being asked. She was wearing the pretty blue dress that she saved for only very special occasions; in fact Roxas couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her wear it. Her hair was done up in a simple, elegant tail that hung perkily off her head and Roxas could see the barest amount of blue shadow on her eyes along with a little blush. She looked young and vibrant and beautiful and Roxas was suddenly very, very proud of everything she'd done so far.

It took a few moments but she finally worked herself free of the people who were crowding her to get to his side. "Roxas," she greeted, taking his hand. She made the motion to hug him and then stopped, tilting her head downward and eyeing his form. "I see you dressed for the occasion."

He offered her a smile, wondering how exactly he was supposed to break the news that he had lost his job. She looked so pretty there though, lightly glistening lips turned up in a smile quite radiantly. "Well you know me," he said quietly, squeezing her hand, "just had to dress up straight for you. You don't like my digs?"

"You sound very gangster," she said bemusedly. "So, did you lose a fight with the trash can?"

He laughed ruefully. "Now that would be a good explanation. No. I fell on the way here. It's raining kind of hard Nami… that's not my fault."

She frowned. "You've been riding that thing for years." Pretty blue eyes studied his face intensely and he smiled as innocently as he could at her. "Something wrong?"

"Just my disheveled appearance," he said, offering that same innocent grin in her direction.

She was still frowning, which was so unbecoming for her face, so he tried to change the direction of the conversation by saying, "It looks great Nami. Everything looks so great. It's set up perfectly."

Instantaneously she brightened and said, "Really? I worked really hard on the placement and made it all go in order… the owner said she really liked it too. The art critic's going to be out here soon. I'm really nervous about the lighting but the owner said it works well with the paintings and that the aura is just right for appreciation because I used the watercolors on the canvass and the pastels on the small, more…"

And she was going on and on about this and how she had run herself raggedly in circles trying to get this element straight and how she'd lost one of her brushes, one of her favorite brushes as a matter of fact and by the time she had turned that dazzling beam back on him, he was about to fall asleep in his shoes. She seemed to be awaiting his approval for something she'd said and he hadn't quite caught it. Great.

"It'll be fine," he said, vaguely, and then diverted the conversation again and pointed straight at his own portrait. "That, though, seems like it could go."

She laughed, the same tinkly little laugh that made him happy. "That's my main piece, Roxas. Can't get rid of the main piece, you mess with the integrity of the entire exhibit. Didn't you ever take an art appreciation class in school?"

"Nope," he said honestly, "didn't much see the need. I appreciate you."

There was a blink and then she was grinning so sincerely, so happily at him that he felt his insides seize up at the prospect of ruining any part of that. Beauty in the world and all that, but there was more beauty here and he never wanted to take away from that, no, he didn't, and when she went to wrap her arms around him, he wished he could enfold her in his embrace and not let go because she was the most real thing he had right now, the most real thing in the entire world and he didn't want to lose that.

He caught her before she wrapped her arms around him and pushed her back. "Naminé, that dress cost more than I make in a week. Don't make me buy you a new one. I know it's some clever ploy of yours but you've got to give up the ghost sometime." He demonstrated by pulling his arms apart so she could see the wet dirt clinging to his sweater. A rueful smile and she just squeezed his arm again.

"No bailing."

He was hoping she wouldn't come to that point.

"When can I bail?"

"In about an hour."

"Okay. Were you going to be busy tonight?"

"My mom's going to take me out to dinner to celebrate or something. Did you want to come with us?"

There was a split second pause before he said, "Your mom? No. I'm alright. I'm going to take you to celebrate this weekend, okay?"

She was looking at him suspiciously. "What's wrong with my mom?"

"Every time she sees me she practically offers me your dowry, Nami."

It was quite something to see Naminé in two conditions: either mad or blushing, because they both made her do the same thing. Her cheeks, though lightly coated with both a light foundation and a very light blush, started to turn extremely red and she nervously giggled. "She does not," she said, although her voice betrayed how she really felt about the subject.

"Absolutely does," Roxas said reasonably, "and I love you, but you're not the one for me. It's not you, it's me." Naminé was still blushing but it was the truth. Naminé didn't exactly have a steady, straight track with boys; Roxas had been her friend for six years now and had seen one serious boyfriend in those six years. They were both only twenty but apparently that was getting to be ancient in her mother's eyes, because when she saw them together she would either A) try to extract every bit of information from Roxas about Naminé's love life that she could or B) tell Roxas what cute little blonde children they had if they ever got married. Procreated was actually how she'd put it, since she pegged him for the cool, analytical guy that he'd always been. Procreated might be a little more scientifically correct, as getting married did not automatically equate to children, but the fact that Naminé's mother would practically shove preferred family names into his mouth every time they met amused him to no ends. She knew it too and so she merely nodded her head a yes and turned back to who he presumed was the owner.

Since he'd already heard that her paintings were in such precise order, he decided that he should go ahead and tool around the room and find out exactly what type of order she meant. It bored him quickly and he saw no order but at least he could now say that he agreed wholeheartedly with the notion that they were in order. In chaos, there was order. These paintings were in chaos. Thus, they were most undoubtedly in order. He read enough to knew that quite a stupid notion.

More people trickled in, more people left, and about an hour later there was a respectable amount of people in the gallery. Most were locals, though some were visitors, and each had an eye and a word for Naminé, who modestly answered questions and laugh appropriately at every little joke. Once Roxas strayed close enough to hear her giggling nervously at the question of who the striking young gentleman in the main piece was. She'd refused to say, which had caused the questioner, who was a young reporter, to state that it must be her boyfriend and that he was one lucky son of a bitch to have such a talented, young, beautiful woman like herself as his. Roxas had grinned to himself when he heard her stammering nothing coherent and then he'd moved away. A refreshment table was brought out shortly and he ate the cheese and grapes and was tempted for a glass of wine since it looked like nobody was checking for identification but he kept that alone, in case he got Naminé in trouble.

It was nearly the end of the evening before he remembered that he'd just been fired and that he had been about to make some friends on the pavement, small tiny friends who were his support in this venture. It was probably because this building was only one story and so any thinking about taking a leap from it was probably just stupid.

Naminé spoke a tiny, halting speech because she hated being in front of crowds, they took pictures of her with a lot of the paintings including the one of Roxas's likeness, and then they cleared away the food and it was time to go. She looked tired already, looking like she was limping in the high heeled pumps she was wearing.

"You know, you're probably taller than me in those," he said, eyeing them critically. "They give you like a whole inch, I swear."

"I'm not taller than you," she said, still tiredly. "My mom's gonna meet me outside. You sure you don't want to come?"

"Nope," he said, smiling and nodding. "I'm going to go on over to Demyx's. They're having a get together and I sort of promised I'd go."

He fully intended on going straight back to Naminé's apartment and completing what he'd been in the middle of before he remembered he'd made a promise.

"Okay then. If you're not too drunk later give me a call and maybe we can hang out." She started to walk away, and then came back, tripping over her heels and nearly falling. He caught her arm and pulled her up. She kicked them off in frustration and then looked back at him, frowning. "Are you sure you're okay, Roxas? You look sad."

He was startled and stammered, "What? You're crazy. I'm fine."

She seemed less than assured of his statement and squeezed his hands. "Alright. Be careful. Do you want a ride?" He shook his head but she already knew the answer because she was already stooping to pick up the shoes she'd kicked off and was turning. "Just be careful please Rox. I'll see you later."

He echoed a goodbye statement hollowly, watching her walk away, realizing this was the last time he was going to see her. And then he remembered that he hadn't hugged her because he couldn't because she was in that stupid dress that was way more expensive than anything he could ever buy her and he couldn't just jump up and make friends with the ants because he hadn't hugged her goodbye and that would probably destroy some part of that beautiful world thing she had going on for her. And he should probably write something to his mom even though she wouldn't care and maybe even say something to Demyx about no hard feelings and really, he needed to hug Naminé goodbye and tell her she was a good friend but this was about him now and she'd be sad, so sad, but he'd hug her and it would be okay.

It would be okay, he realized. Things would be okay.

It occurred to him as he rang the doorbell to Demyx's house in the pouring rain that he hadn't intended to do anything today. It occurred to him as he toweled off in the bathroom that the therapy in the camp in the mountains was probably useless. It occurred to him as he walked across the living room to meet this guy that Xigbar and Demyx wanted him to meet that he was stupid and he'd gotten over it and he'd be okay with it all eventually and that the habit of looking at how high buildings were would eventually stop. It occurred to him that as he looked down at the too skinny guy with flaming red hair and emerald eyes that he was probably fucked up some but everyone was fucked up some but it was overcoming those types of thoughts that was most important and he'd be just fine because he had Naminé and Demyx and others to keep him grounded like this.

And then Xigbar opened his mouth and said, "Axel, this is Roxas," and then it occurred to him that he should have just jumped off Naminé's building when he'd had the fucking chance.


	7. Part 7

Title: This Frenzied State [7/?]  
Rating: M  
Genre: Drama/romance  
Pairing: Axel/Roxas (AU)  
Warnings: Abuse of miscellaneous Final Fantasy characters. Seriously. Any mischaracterization is obviously all my fault.  
Summary: When Roxas stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see into some eternity. When Axel stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see how he'd survive a fourteen floor fall.

Author's Notes: I fail at life, yes. Warning for this chapter: there is light…er.. light smut. Very light. Pants still on. Consider yourself warned… or delighted, I don't know. I've been writing a vampire!KH fic, which sort of took fire away from this. Also been trying to revive zombie!KH fic, but both of those aren't going well at all. My life, my life.

This has sort of been in a posting schedule of every two weeks now, instead of the one week I wanted, so I'll try to now keep that two week schedule. Hopefully it'll work. Still no beta, so all errors are mine. Feel free to point them out. Not finished yet, but almost. Word count has gone down a little, since I end up cutting a ton more out than I put in. About 79k now. If anyone cares. I think this is the longest chapter so far, but it's pretty much all Axel-Roxas interaction so hopefully it's not a drag. Carry on!

* * *

Axel didn't think that the kid liked him. In fact, he looked positively distressed when Axel awkwardly extended his hand for a shake. He took it like it was diseased and then Axel remembered the whole "stalker" fiasco that Demyx had mentioned earlier. He frowned. First of all, the kid was short. If Axel had learned anything from his entire twenty two years of wisdom on this earth, it was that if you looked like you were twelve and below five foot nothing, then well, your chances at procreating were dramatically decreased. It wasn't that Axel cared. He had a good shot at least, but the question really was of why this kid thought he'd had a crazy psycho stalker. Maybe he had a stunning personality to offset it.

The look of disbelief hadn't left his mouth as he sat on the couch opposite of Axel, sitting almost stiffly and looking at the beer Demyx had shoved into his hand like it was a grenade. Axel was still fuzzy and feeling good, so he swung his upper half forward near him; Roxas recoiled on mere sight and Axel frowned, though not deeply and not too perturbed that he'd scared the boy.

"You going to drink that or just look at it?"

Roxas blinked and Axel could have been a little more sensitive, hell, maybe the kid was one of those psycho crazy kids who didn't drink or have sex or do drugs because they believed their souls were going to hell. Maybe that's the type of kid he was and sitting here holding a cold bottle of beer in his hand wasn't the best idea in the world and he had been peer pressured by Demyx into coming and maybe, just maybe, he wanted to go home and play video games all day instead of being forced into this increasingly awkward situation where he was being forced to play nice with someone who he had, up until recently, thought was a crazy psycho stalker obsessed with his five foot nothing body.

Aha! A sip, and a half hearted glare. Perhaps not a crazy super religious kid after all. Axel could work with this.

"I'm getting there," he replied crossly, taking another small sip from the bottle.

"You should already be there," Axel suggested, sagely, tilting more down his own throat, even if his stomach was just about starting to suggest that maybe he should cool it and take a pill before it decided to run south on him, something Axel was quite familiar with but still didn't particularly fear. He wanted a cigarette, but his stomach was, again, suggesting maybe he shouldn't move for a tick. No, drinking should soon cease, but he couldn't leave this poor Mormon kid to go ahead and take some long swallows of this lime stuff by himself. He was merely being a gentleman at that.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Axel realized he was quite drunk.

"Whatever," Roxas replied, looking away like he was trying to focus on anything but Axel at the moment. There was a lull in conversation, before he glared up at Demyx and said, "So. How do you know Mr. Stone here?"

"Axel," Axel responded full heartedly. "Name's Axel, got it memorized?"

No response back from either of them on that account, but Demyx started recounting the story that he'd recounted to Xigbar earlier. "And so I get this call right and it's crazy and this guy just starts talking! About a funeral and the weather and just everything but what I needed from him! I mean normally I'm as annoyed as the next guy but we got to talking because I saw that he was in New York and we had a nice chat and I completely forgot all about him being your crazy stalker until tonight when he was here! No hard feelings Rox, I wouldn't have invited your crazy stalker if I had remembered it. If it had been more memorable like that one time that one girl came and gave you two dozen roses and I still don't remember her name even if—"

"Olette," Roxas said, though what sounded like gritted teeth. "Her name's Olette."

"Oh, and she works in finance, I remember now! Yes, one time, Axel, she got Rox over here roses, a shit ton of just plain _roses_ and it was the greatest thing I'd ever seen! Roxas was blushing and embarrassed and just completely going like, oh hey, thanks, but uh, I don't like you, at least not like that." Demyx winked in a very over exaggerated fashion at Axel but Axel caught on and gave him a big, very conspicuous thumbs up sign while Roxas rolled his eyes and blushed some more. "But she took the hint and I guess they're good friends now, right?"

Roxas was glaring at him. Curtly. Without remorse. Axel felt the chill on the couch where he sat and resolutely put the beer down, edging it away from him as far as it could go. It was sort of difficult and he'd always have that problem it seemed. Some people had drinking problems because they wanted to drown their sorrows in beer and liquor. Axel didn't have a drinking problem but he figured that if his life ever became that bleak, it would be damn easy because he couldn't put his glass far away enough to not reach it. He cursed his father and that entire side of his family because they were all tall.

And then he remembered that he'd buried his father yesterday.

Well he hadn't. Reno could attest more to that than he could. He figured the pallbearers had a say in that one. More than he did in any case. He'd just sat there while they carried that thing to the ground. The crane even had more of a say than he did. At least the crane had existed longer than he did, in most people's eyes.

"Demyx said you got fired," he blurted out suddenly, eyes focused back on Roxas.

Roxas glared at him, then at Demyx until Demyx cowered where he was, and then he glared at Axel once more. "Oh did he?" he said, with a bonus dirty look up in Demyx's general direction, where the taller blonde cowered again and started looking around the room, as though he was looking for his big man dog who could fight Roxas off should Roxas decide to get catty about the entire affair.

"Yea," Axel said, then looked around like he had heard his own voice. Oh wait. He was talking. He spared a glance for the bottle pushed to the other side of the table. There were really only two options at this point in time sitting on this couch as he currently was: toss the beer off the table or finish it. Axel contemplated a long moment, and then pushed it off table. It landed on the carpet and then when nothing went crash, Axel realized that it was empty and he'd already drank it all. Maybe he was an alcoholic already. Blackouts common. Alcohol poisoning immediate. He might as well get his will ready tomorrow.

When he realized that Roxas was still glaring at him, Axel looked vaguely in his direction. "What?" he said, still staring down at the bottle sitting unharmed on the carpet. "I was just asking." I mean, hey, it's for the best right?" He clumsily raised his fist in some method that could have been considered with either a cheer or a blatant disregard for humanity, because the blonde girl, the one that Xigbar had called Larxene, had caught sight of his clumsy motions and flipped him off. A true peach, that one.

Roxas looked a little perplexed at the statement and without answering, downed the rest of what left in his bottle and immediately started looking for another one. His face was flushed, hair all falling around his ears in messy patterns, and Axel realized how blue his eyes were for the first time. Still short, but at least he had the eyes and the hair going for him. Axel was of the opinion that a few things could save you from the doom of being left out by natural selection and being able to reproduce and continue on the human species with your obviously less than superior genes: a brain, a set of eyes, and some hair. Roxas had two of the three so far; right now all his brain seemed to have a penchant for doing was focusing those pretty eyes into an intense glare and his lips into an eternal sneer. Couldn't win them all, he guessed.

"For the best?" He was answering the question now it appeared, those same blue eyes that could save him from not continuing his proud family name, whatever that might be, a little bit fiery. "Do explain how losing my job when I have rent due next week is for the best?"

It didn't rain cats or dogs every day, but Roxas sure seemed like he pouted every day he'd graced this earth and Axel took a wild stab and pegged him at nineteen or eighteen. Not old enough to know any better, at least not yet. Axel would know a lot about that. He apparently wasn't quite at that stage yet either.

"You have a chance to try new things!" He tried to get enthused about the subject material but it was hard because Demyx had suddenly gotten up, disappeared, and reappeared with two beers in his hands, that each went either of them but neither of them was touching it at the moment, just holding it by the neck and fingering the cap wistfully. "Just think, you can go work somewhere else! I know it's awkward, trust me, oh do I know, but come on now, did you really want to work there for like, the rest of your life? Imagine being a young, vibrant individual stuck in some job you don't like. What kind of existence is that?"

Roxas chose to answer grabbing the bottle opener from the table and cracking his open. He tossed it across the way to Axel, who snatched it clumsily from the air and set about a few extra moments trying to get his fingers to operate the thing because for some reason they were having the hardest time doing what he wanted them to be doing right now.

"This kind of existence apparently," Roxas was saying, with a tone was composed of both bittersweet and ironic shades as he downed half the bottle in one gulp. Axel followed suit because he couldn't look like a little weakling in front of the kid, after all. That was just plain cruel and wrong. Roxas made a face at his bottle, and then those frosty eyes rose back up to meet Axel's. "So Mr. Stone," he said, in a voice that was not so much mocking as so much it was exceptionally bitter, "what kind of job is it that you have?"

That was a challenge if Axel ever heard one, and he sort of smirked as he raised the bottle to his lips and downed most of the rest of it. He could hardly taste it now, though he felt it hit the back of his throat and slide down ever so gently. With a little bit of a sigh he said, "Oh, you know, I make graphics. Draw some shit here and there. Apparently people pay for it. You know. I'm one of those people."

Roxas appeared nonplussed by what Axel was saying, because he sort of smirked back, tilting his head and taking a long sip from the bottle. "So you mean you're an artist and some people pay you for what you do? Let me guess, stick figures?"

"That's not nice," Demyx said drowsily from somewhere on the other side of Axel.

"No, it's not, is it," Axel said casually, sipping more slowly from the bottle now. "He's not a very nice boy it seems like."

Roxas's eyes flashed. "At least I'm not a psycho stalker," he nearly hissed, downing the rest of his bottle and setting it down on the table next to his couch hard with a loud crack. Next to Axel, Demyx started up from his semi asleep state.

"You need more beer?" he said blearily, looking at them with red, tired eyes. Axel found the clock and it was only ten thirty. What lightweights they all were. Well, they'd been at it for a few hours now. Maybe he shouldn't feel too bad. Was a school night after all. Not that Axel was much into the whole school thing right now. But maybe others were. Didn't look like Roxas was, because he nodded curtly at Demyx, who seemed to not be looking him but looking into the empty space on the couch next to him and frowning at it deeply.

"See a ghost?' Axel asked, finishing up the rest of his bottle.

"A ghost? Where?"

Axel laughed and Roxas looked annoyed, so Axel answered, "Another beer would be fabulous. I can go get them if you tell me where. I'll even get one for Roxas over there."

Roxas glowered, but Demyx said in a slurred sort of voice, "No, don't worry, I'm hosting, you're both my pals! Even you Axel, even though I don't even know you really, you're still my pal! You're cool! And you too Roxas, even if you're a jerk most of the time, here, don't worry, I'll be right back, don't you two go anywhere!" He took off in one direction and nearly tripped over the edge of the sofa but managed to upright himself enough before he hit the wall, where he slid a couple of feet and then walked away resolutely toward the kitchen.

"He says you're a jerk," Axel said breezily, fingering his bottle. "Is that true?"

"What's it matter to you?" Roxas shot back, his cheeks redder than they had been awhile ago. And those eyes were still there. And still awfully blue. Axel had heard a story before, about someone who had blue eyes and a gold crown on his head and had stared into the water until his reflection had come out and eaten him alive. Or well, maybe that wasn't it. But eyes that blue really shouldn't be allowed.

"I'm just making conversation."

"Impolite conversation."

"You should drink some more."

"You should stop drinking."

"You know, I was trying to be nice today when I let you listen to my MP3."

"You didn't have to be."

"But I was."

"That was your choice."

"You could at least act appreciative."

Roxas's eyes were hard. "That was this morning. This is now. Get it? I'm not appreciative after two. You're making it hard to be any type of appreciative. Nobody would be appreciative after what's happened. I'm finding it hard to be appreciative right now even before two."

"You're drunk."

Roxas gaped. "I've had two beers, I'm not drunk."

"You said appreciative four times in the same breath. You're drunk."

"You should talk."

"I am. I can increase the pace if you want though. I'm pretty good at that."

"I know. You got me fired."

"Oh, I thought that was Demyx."

"You started it! I was being impatient with you first!

"Well then maybe you shouldn't be so impatient," Axel said, noticing that Demyx was already on the way back with the two beers, tripping over things and running into people. Xigbar wasn't far off and was keeping a close eye on the blonde, and an eye—literally—on them as well. He saw Axel staring and smiled widely, giving him a big thumbs up sign and some sort of roar that Axel couldn't hear over the loud nose of the people. He gave an acknowledging nod, frowning out at the crowd that had gathered. He hadn't noticed when it had gotten busy around here. Apparently they were both well connected, Demyx and Xigbar both. Well, that meant one thing at least. This many people, some of them had to be more friendly than his wayward travel agent who seemed determined to somehow duke it out with him through words.

"I have the right to be impatient with people who don't answer the questions they're asked when I'm trying to do my job," Roxas shot back, almost petulantly.

"Well for that I'm truly sorry," Axel murmured. "Next time my father dies, I'll try to be the best gentleman I can."

There was silence as Demyx finally stumbled his way over and dropped onto the couch, handing out the beers blearily. Axel took them both since he was closer, cracked them both open, and handed one to Roxas, who took it with very suspicious eyes. Axel let him look like that and then raised the bottle. "To your plummeting career," he said, with a half little grin on his face as he held the bottle up.

Again with the suspicious look, and then Roxas hesitantly raised the bottle to clink it slightly against Axel's and then said, "To your father."

That was more than enough remorse in both of their sentences and again they each nearly downed their bottles in more than one swallow. Axel sat back against the couch, rubbing the top of the glass and hearing it squeak slightly underneath the pad of his thumb. Roxas was silent as well, while the party, or gathering, or whatever the fuck it was went on around them. Demyx sat on the side, dosing and every now and again surging up and yelling stuff like, "No, your mom!" and "No, no, fuck you, and do it in your own backseat, please." Axel didn't know him very well but he could tell from the nonchalance that Roxas looked at him with that it really wasn't anything important. Axel would hope not. He checked his phone and saw that no, his aunt still had not returned his call. Probably in Africa. Oh that fucking bitch.

"So how was the funeral?"

Roxas's voice was very unexpected and very soft and Axel looked over in surprise. Roxas was looking at him while not looking at him at the same time; those pristine eyes would rest on him for a few moments and then shift away and then shift back and then the entire process would repeat, though Axel wasn't sure where one ended and where one process started. He was sort of looking off into the distance when Axel chose to answer, after thinking about what to say very carefully and the alcohol inside his brain was subsided, as were the urges to simply yell about his brother with it.

"A pretty thing," he said, trying to sound casual, like it was a typical conversation to just be sprouting up and talking about funerals, especially about relatives who were supposed to be close to you, you know, like your father. Odd topic of conversation. They could have talked about the flight, or the ground plane (or the bus ride to Roxas still, probably, Axel was quite sure his new hip slang hadn't yet caught on, no matter how big the internet was these days), or they could even have started talking about Demyx since he was starting to sound like a choked hyena snoring, but no, Roxas had chosen to bring up the funeral. "You know, typical funeral. A big church. Lots of black and crying."

Roxas nodded and there was an awkward silence, like he expected Axel to continue on. What else could he talk about? The grave stone? How the paintings in the church had seemed so lifelike and yet so dead at the same time? How he had contemplated burning the church to the ground with the candles at the altar that he and Aerith had talked about? Could he talk about that?

"My brother gave the eulogy," he continued, haltingly, still a little more than confused about where the direction of this conversation should be going. "The priest made everyone cry like he was about to molest them. But.. other than that you know.. the weather was kind of shitty for a funeral, if you know what I mean. It was very bright outside. Like the sky just wanted to be a bitch for a day and be like, 'haha bitches, you want to mourn, too bad, have some fucking sun' and then we're supposed to go out and gaily celebrate his life, you know.. that kind of shitty weather. I was actually supposed to go ahead and celebrate his life but I decided he'd want me to go to school. You know, rah rah school, so that's why I called and changed my ticket, get it? Wasn't trying to stalk you..or anything… heaven knows where you got that idea."

"Hey," Roxas interrupted, as though he wanted to start an argument about it, "you'd think the same thing if you got the same crazy guy call back in two days and get you. I mean, that's just virtually unheard of around here. It's crazy." Roxas's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you don't have my extension and this is just some clever way to get around it?"

Axel blinked at the seriousness in Roxas's tone and then he laughed loud enough that people were probably staring at him. He wanted to tell them to fuck off, fuckers, he was fucking drunk, he'd laugh as loud as he wanted and when and what the hell were they going to do about it? Their host was currently passed out on the couch snoring and now mumbling something about music notes should not dance around him in such an orderly fashion, they should instead be wild and free, and so he was currently indisposed and could not help them out in their plight and time of need. Xigbar was nowhere to be seen, but a general muttering had convened and decided he'd gone on a beer run, which was nice of him. But seriously, what the fuck were they going to do? Kill him? He'd just like to see them try.

"No, Roxas," he said, trying to sound reassuring and amused all at the same time, though he probably just sounded like he was making fun of the kid, "trust me, no. I did not try to stalk you." He leaned his long torso forward and then extended a long arm and slapped Roxas's knee in a friendly, companionable way. Roxas didn't try to move away from the slapping but his eyes were still narrowed and a bit suspicious. "If I had wanted to stalk you, you would have known." He smirked a lazy, lopsided smirk. "Oh baby, you'd know."

The kid snorted, which somehow drew more attention than Axel's explosive laughter, and he wondered if maybe making this kid laugh was some kind of miracle, up there with turning water into wine and proving that the moon landing was real, maybe that's the type of people he was dealing with around here. The kid snorted once more as his eyes finally landed on Axel and he said, "Right. Well. That solves that problem. Guess I won't be needing to change my extension after all."

"Good," Axel declared, watching those pretty blue eyes dip below and the corners of his mouth turn up in a slight grin, "because I have your number now, oh baby, oh baby. I don't have enough money to bribe anyone anymore to get your extension. You want me to stalk you then, you're going to have to cough up it up."

"I don't think so," Roxas said, easily, "I like you lot to go distances for me, you understand. It's just a test of devotion. Something like a test of trust and loyalty."

"Designed by monkeys with fortified sticks," Axel muttered, though Roxas didn't seem to hear him and proceeded to ramble on about love and how people would not stop for the depths of any hell, man made or demon spawn, and that if Axel was that type, then he better get a better target, because Roxas was immune to stalkers and serial killers it seemed, but Axel tuned him out after the first few rambling sentences about faux hearts and the weird jokes about old ladies, just like he'd turned Reno off during the great funeral of the year. It was a gift, and it was funny, because it seemed to be a polar opposite of what he considered to be his natural gift, or curse, as most of those he was around a lot called it; he could either talk a lot and scream his intentions or he could just tune people out completely. Such a double edged sword was not far, apparently, but Axel didn't care too much about the whole listening to what others think segment of anything anyway. That was for squares, not fiery redheads like himself.

There was a sudden drop onto the couch as Xigbar heaved his weight next to Demyx, who squealed at the sudden intrusion and was all flailing arms and dead weight for a second before he realized that it was Xigbar next to him and then made a happy little whine that so much unlike the previous squeak as he curled up next to him, resting his head on his arm. Axel didn't know those two, but he thought they were an odd pair. Demyx was apparently some artist who was attempting to hit it big and worked with Roxas during the day; Xigbar apparently owned some type of hippie skate and surf shop because apparently sometime during his life he'd once lived in Hawaii and been a surfing champion and thus saw it fit to then move all away across the country and sell surf boards to people who would then have to travel all the other way across the country to use them. That was a novel idea but Xigbar had insisted his business was great and he was more in the selling of custom boards, vintage boards, boards people would never use but would hang up on their walls as tokens of remembrance to glory days in the past. Axel had pointed out that since the boards that Xigbar sold weren't actually their boards, then how could they think there was glory in buying someone else's board and saying it was theirs and then entertaining crowds and lying about the entire affair? Xigbar had shrugged, said that yuppies were a strange breed of people he had no idea about, and then continued promptly on to saying that the people in this town were all crazy and sheep and that he'd only moved here because of the food.

What food he' been talking about they'd not gone around to, because Demyx was being needy at the time, but Axel had jotted a mental note down to go ahead and remember to ask him about it later, because he needed somewhere to eat tomorrow and if this place was famous for its food and he couldn't get a hold of his aunt, then well, it would have justified the entire trip anyway.

Xigbar let Demyx pull up to his arm and start snuggling with a patient look on his face as he extended two beers toward them. Again Axel took them and cracked them both open, quite like a gentleman, and handed Roxas one. Roxas had drawn his knees up on the couch so he looked like he was about twelve, with his chin resting on them and toying with the beer again instead of drinking it. Axel swallowed, pointed it out, and then Roxas glared at him before drinking too. At this point they were both going to be heaving in the bathroom before the night was over.

"It's only like eleven o' clock dudes," Xigbar said, frowning deeply at the man against him. "And he's already passed out. He ruins my fun."

"Just put him to bed," Axel suggested, gesturing toward one direction like it might be the bedroom, but he didn't really know because he'd never seen it (and god forbid he ever do because heaven knew what the hell was in it) but it seemed to emphasize the gesture he was trying to accomplish.

"But he's so fun when he's a little less drunk than he is now," Xigbar said, still with that deep frown on his face. "I mean, we could probably put him in a dress when he's less drunk and he'd be entirely out of it and completely all prancing around in it and trying to make us laugh, which I assure you, we would be doing since he'd probably look like an idiot but still. We have pictures of that before. I'll show you later. But now if we put him in a dress he'd just fall asleep in it which is his own brand of fun, I assure you too, but not as fun as when he prances around in it."

"Maybe you should try," Roxas said, quietly from his side of the couch, "and put him in one now and that way, by the time you get it on, he'd be a little sobered up."

"And then he'd probably be terrified and wondering who had raped him," Xigbar said sagely, ruffling the nearly unconscious man's hair. "It would be sort of funny though."

"Where do you get dresses anyway?"

"The store, duh dude."

"And the store has never said anything about why two men would be buying dresses?"

"Hey Red, just because you might be living in a closet doesn't mean we are."

Axel was flabbergasted at what Xigbar had just said and he couldn't think of a response fast enough to stop Roxas from practically spitting out his beer in laughter. Xigbar grinned at him and Axel felt a little foolish, but the question had some validity to it after all.

"My closet's not big enough to hide me," he said, after he'd recovered and glared a second at Roxas, who was still chortling and snorting into his bottle, arms now wrapped around his legs.

"Sure it's not," he said now, almost lazily.

"I see you got out of yours a long time ago."

Roxas didn't seem offended by the remark as he tried his own hand at a smirk, though he failed at that in a very epic fashion. "Naw, still hanging out on the inside," he said, running a hand through those blonde locks of his.

"We're just a bunch of hippie gay dudes," Xigbar confirmed, with a little bit of a sigh as he suddenly got up, as Demyx squeaked in offense and fell over onto his side without the support to keep him up and afloat. "But yea. Don't let us stop you. Axel, like I said, you're more than welcome to that spare bedroom we have. If your aunt hasn't called you back yet."

Axel nodded gratefully. "Thanks a lot dude. That really helps."

"Don't worry about it. Don't want you to get arrested for drunk walking around anyway." Xigbar bent down, scooping up Demyx who at first started to fight and kick but stilled when Xigbar elbowed him in the face. It seemed to be some sort of bizarre, painful love gesture because he immediately quieted with a content little sigh on his face. "And you know you're always welcomed around here Rox. I'd rather you stay here. So you're not drunk riding on your skateboard and get caught by the cops and get a shit ton of awkward questions because you're a baby."

"I'm not a baby!" Roxas protested hotly, his ears going pink at the supposed insult.

"Well, you're underage in any case, and you don't need that right now. Stay on the couch if you want. And drink some more if you're both going to end up staying here anyway. Why waste a perfectly good night?"

Axel raised his bottle to that as Xigbar started to go away. He stood up and started swaying on his feet a little, but the world righted itself a second later. Okay, he could do this. He could so totally do this. He looked down at Roxas, who had been looking up in alarm as though Axel was going to fall but then quickly averted his gaze when Axel looked down at him. "You smoke?" he asked, "Or are you too young for that too?" There was that smirk back on his face.

"No!" Again with the pink tipped ears as he got slightly embarrassed. It was cute.

"To what, the underage or the smoking part?"

Roxas looked beyond annoyed as he got up and nearly stumbled himself. "No to both, but I'll keep you company anyway. I guess."

"Thanks babe, really appreciate it," Axel said, already going toward the front door. The room was very crowded and he passed that Larxene girl, who glared at them. Glaring was obviously par for the course because once they had escaped the crowd and were standing in the rather chilly night air, he felt a lot more relieved than he had been standing inside. He shook out his cigarettes and took one out and offered one to Roxas, even though he'd just said he didn't smoke. Roxas hesitated a lot longer than he should have, as though wrestling with himself, and then took one.

"Thought you didn't smoke," Axel said, leisurely as he lit his own and then held it up. Roxas scowled at him before leaning forward and pushing the tip of his onto the tip of Axel's and then moving back quickly.

"Not like you. Only when I'm drunk."

"Oh, so you're drunk. Lightweight."

"You're drunk too!"

"But I've been here for like four hours. You just go here and here you are, stumbling over yourself. Now what fun is that?" He coughed a little as the smoke his lungs and then he blew it out, away from Roxas as a courtesy, though the breeze caught it and carried it back into his face anyway.

"Yea well, I'm not some six foot monster like you."

Axel was used to the jokes about his height, so he wisely said nothing about Roxas's own because he didn't know if that was a tender spot with him or what. He was quiet for a second, taking a pause, and then said, "Sorry about your job man. That must really suck."

The sincerity in his voice and the sudden talk about it seemed to surprise Roxas, because he looked up for a second and then away. "Yea. It does. Sorry about your dad dude. That must really suck too."

Without a skip of a beat, Axel laughed, a mix between ironic and bitter, the best brew in the entire world when it came to him. "Yea. I guess it sucks."

Roxas looked up at him.

Axel smirked, then gave a little half, sort of apologetic smile. "I have a complicated family history, you would say. The funeral was interesting."

The kid looked like he didn't know about whether to sympathetic or whether he should say something like he was interested.

"I mean, there weren't any fights over the open grave or anything—though I would have paid damn good money to see that—but it was still intense."

"I never got the whole fight over the grave thing. I mean, obviously you have a lot of emotions, but generally I thought most people were able to control themselves."

Axel frowned. "You don't seem like a very passionate person, Rox."

"I am." Though it was dark, Axel would have bet his ears had gone pink. "But I mean, honestly, fighting over a grave with a dead person inside…. And all those flowers around the casket."

Axel shook his head at that, the smoke coming out of his mouth going in all directions and again blowing into Roxas's face. "Naw, my father's funeral was much more dramatic than that. Get this, my dad's gravestone? Probably cost forty thousand dollars."

Before he could continue Roxas sputtered out some smoke. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious. My stepmom's a work of art, I tell you what. And so, you know, we're following the hearse and shit and we get there and they unload it and all of them, those guys with the white gloves, the pallbearers, they're like, oh, ok, cool, and they put it right there and this crane grabs it and puts it in. I tell you what, they all started sobbing hysterically. A ton of birds wouldn't have made so much racket."

Roxas murmured something sympathetically. "It sounds like a good show. For being a funeral."

"Eh. I got out of there as soon as I could. Wasn't worth sticking around for I guess."

There was a vague nod in the dark.

"So," Axel said, switching tracks, "so what exactly did you do to get fired?" He tried to take a step to lean against the wall, ended up tripping over his own feet, and then hit it with his shoulder instead. Great. Lovely. Just all sorts of fucked up. Just like me, he thought with a wise flourish of his arms.

There was a derisive snort. "What haven't I done to get fired?"

That piqued Axel's interest so he looked a little more closely at the dark blur a few feet away from him. "I don't know, you tell me."

"I'm not exactly the best call center material," the kid said, and in the darkness Axel could see his face turned in the opposite direction. "When I started I used to do two things, requisitions and talking to the platinum members, which is a smaller customer base, so I had time to do both and well… I was fine at the requisitions but the plat guys, they're the ones who you have to kiss ass for and I'm not very good at that. I'm not exactly the most patient person in the world."

"I could tell," Axel murmured.

"And that's about it. Customer service skills are lacking and we're supposed to be this great entity in airline service or whatever, so we're constantly monitored and of course I get constantly crabby so I mean, it was bound to happen. That little thing with Demyx was probably the worst." Roxas sighed. "Maybe it's better this way, who knows. Now I can start… I don't know, focusing on other things."

"Like what?"

There was a quick shrug and then Axel saw in the darkness his head tilt up to the roof, like he was speaking directly to it. "Oh, just things. Getting another job. Going back to school. Picking up a hobby here and there. Things like that."

"You must have a pretty boring life with no hobby."

The head that was speaking quite reverently to the roof came down sharply. "Oh? What do you do that's so fun?"

"A lot of things Rox, a lot of things," Axel said, as mysteriously as he could muster before dropping the finished cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. There were other discarded cigarettes on the ground so he figured it would be okay, as far as littering was concerned. Who knew? Roxas dropped his a second later and they stood in the quiet dark, as though contemplating certain things about stars of their own. Axel suggested they go back inside and make good on what Xigbar had said. Roxas agreed and they stepped back into the noisy, well lit party and went to the kitchen. They both drank another beer, and this time they talked about Axel's plane trip, and how not very smooth it had gone and how Roxas had left his own music player with his mother in her hospital and how he was pissed. They talked about how Axel lived in Brooklyn and Roxas's mom lived in Brooklyn and about how Axel should just pick up the music player from the hospital before bad things went awry.

Axel agreed and Roxas did too, enthusiastically, and Axel knew that the kid was punch drunk, because Roxas didn't seem like the sort who was willing to let an absolute stranger just up and pick up his music player from his mother in a hospital who didn't even know him. The rate they were going though, neither of them were going to remember anything in the morning anyway. Somewhere awhile later—Axel wasn't sure, because his mind was clearly quite hazy—Xigbar showed back up, without Demyx in a dress, but still in good spirits and Axel clearly thought that they had been doing something quite dirty and naughty in the bedroom. Xigbar had laughed but not said no, but he did suggest they do a shot, just the three of them. Roxas disagreed, saying he was done, but Xigbar and Axel kept at him until he succumbed to their peer pressure and agreed if he could have a chaser. Xigbar rolled his eyes at him but found some strong punch in the fridge and gave him a little pink cup full of it. They retrieved the shot glasses, cleaned them out, and poured in the liquor—tequila, because Xigbar was a man and men drank tequila. Axel could hardly taste it when it went down his throat, though Roxas was clearly quite affected by it as he gagged and went tumbling to the sink to drink the punch, as though he might spit it all out at any second. Xigbar and Axel both laughed at him and Roxas glared, but his cheeks were flushed deep red and his ears were pink and his eyes were actually smiling, not just his mouth, and Axel thought about how blue his eyes were again.

Xigbar retired soon after for good, the party was winding down finally, and Axel tried to stumble to the bedroom but ended up in the bathroom nearly in the shower before Roxas found him, shaking his head helplessly at the taller man and leading him to the spare bedroom. They went inside and Roxas seemed to realize that he wasn't sleeping here, because he apologized profusely and said oh, wait, usually I sleep here but you can dude, you're the guest, really, I've slept on the couch before. Axel disagreed intently, saying he'd put Roxas through hell and that Roxas deserved it. Roxas countered with the entire, it's my job, let me live, stop telling me what to do crap, and so they stood in the middle of the room and argued a lot for a second, actually a few minutes that included animated arm movements and hand jerks and a lot of things that nobody liked to admit they did when they were drunk and arguing animatedly. Somewhere in the middle of it, Axel leaned too much forward, Roxas pushed his head up in defiance, and somewhere in the middle of all that, they started to kiss each other.

Roxas tasted like salt, and desperation. There was an urgency in the way he pressed up against Axel and Axel, already off balance and now more than distracted, stumbled back, hitting the wall with a bang that shook the picture on the wall but they both paid no attention to it. Axel crooked his knees a little, so that he was more on Roxas's level, as Roxas gripped his hips now, his lips pressing against Axel's harshly.

"Your mouth," he muttered, voice nearly lost in Axel's own breath, "open your mouth."

Axel listened and did and Roxas's tongue slipped inside, scraping along the inside of Axel's cheek, and Axel might have moaned then, electrified, and that would have made sense, the noise coming from him, because it was some sort of indicator of what he was doing, because the next thing he knew, he was crouching above Roxas on the bed, nipping and biting at his neck, while Roxas convulsed underneath him, all breathless nothings and words composed entirely of electricity.

There was more desperation in the way that Roxas kicked off his shoes, and shifted underneath him, leaning up, so now he was the one with his mouth buried in Axel's neck, biting and bruising, tugging on his ear with his teeth while his hands went back to Axel's hips, fingers digging through the denim there to grip the skin. Axel shuddered when Roxas bit him especially hard, and he felt Roxas's toes touching his ankles, straining at the shoes there, and Axel leaned back, hearing Roxas whine as he did, long arms reaching around to blindly grope at his sneakers.

Roxas levered himself up, one hand dipping into the mattress to support his weight while the other pushed Axel's shirt up, his fingers spreading over the skin, blunt fingernails dragging across the sides of his body, over his ribs, lowering his mouth to lick and follow the path his fingers were following, slow and at the same time nothing but. Axel moaned again, finally freeing himself of both his shoes, and Roxas braced his palms against Axel's chest, pushing him back now, so that it was Axel on the mattress, Roxas crouching over him, still with his shirt up into his neck as Roxas bit and lapped at his chest.

He couldn't stop the noises from his throat as he fisted his hands in Roxas's hair, back arching when Roxas bit him, bit him hard enough to hurt, but he could feel the tension now as he ran his hands lower, across Roxas's shoulders, spreading his palms against the skin protected by a thin layer of cotton, tracing his own fingertips across the surface to feel Roxas shivering at his touch. Roxas was trailing lower now, biting the flesh on his navel, and then slithering back up, past his rolled up shirt, to bite at his lips again.

He raised himself on his elbows now, so that he had better access, and this time the kiss was slower, less violent, but still urgent, still desperate, and Axel wondered for a second why it was desperate, why they were doing this, and if maybe the past few days were starting to catch up to him, that maybe he needed this as much as Roxas seemed like he needed it, and that thought was the one he had in mind when he rocked his hips upward into Roxas's, suddenly, without warning, and mostly without thinking.

He saw Roxas's eyes widen and then he moaned into Axel's mouth, his back arching as Axel did it again, this time making them both moan and Roxas shudder. Axel felt his hands gripping the bed covers on either side of his head and Axel did it again, panting, making Roxas groan, more loudly than before, and that seemed to wake him up, because his half-lidded eyes suddenly sharpened and he moved his hands so that he was gripping Axel's shirt, yanking them both off the bed and onto the floor again, as he pulled at Axel's shirt, trying to get it off and over his head.

Axel pulled back, pulling his shirt off and throwing it on the floor, and then tugging at Roxas's own shirt, but Roxas was already moving, hissing and practically throwing Axel into the wall, following him and starting to attack his neck again, biting and sucking, ignoring the wall shake and the picture again rattling.

"Take off your shirt," Axel panted, fingers again buried in the fabric, but Roxas wasn't paying attention, his hands roaming all over Axel's now bare torso, fingers everywhere, in between his ribs, ghosting his spine and bare back, and then he was _pushing_ his hips into Axel's again, or as well as they could with the height difference, but he was _rocking_ his hips now, so that they were both moaning, Axel's hands gripping Roxas's shoulders as Roxas arched into him desperately, biting his chest hard enough for Axel's eyes to open wider than before. With a near savage noise he tightened his hold on Roxas's shoulders and pushed him away, hearing Roxas whimper at the loss of contact, before Axel had shoved him bodily back to the wall, so that their positions were reversed, the wall rattling again.

"_Take off your shirt,_" Axel growled, biting Roxas's neck and pulling the thin cotton up, bending at his knees slightly so he could now lick and suck at Roxas's chest, like Roxas had been doing to him. Roxas's breath hitched to Axel's ears, and then he was obliging, pulling his shirt up and off, so that it joined Axel's on the floor and Axel had access to the hot skin now, as he spread his hands across Roxas's own ribs, dragging his fingernails up and down in lazy patterns.

"Ax-el," he heard Roxas gasp, as he pushed his hips against Roxas's again.

"What?" Axel murmured, moving up so that he could lick Roxas's earlobe, tugging on it with his teeth, and Roxas's hands held on tightly to his hair now, and his hips shoved forward again and _oh,_ Roxas was driving him insane.

"N-nothing."

"Sure?" Long fingers slid ever so precariously underneath Roxas's pants, resting on the flesh of his thigh there, as Roxas whined in his throat. Axel's mouth moved back to Roxas's, and this time it was lusty and half lidded and sloppy and the desperation was there, so acute, so thick, that Roxas was holding onto him, holding onto him for almost dear life, and there was the salt taste there too, and Axel wondered briefly if it was because he needed to cry, or if because his entire constitution had always been like this, on the periphery of tears and neediness.

Roxas was moving again, flipping the tables on him again, pushing him against the other wall, so that it was him now doing the exploring, slipping his fingers to rest on Axel's legs, him doing the pushing with his hips, and Axel's eyes rolling up to the see the picture stop vibrating on the wall, shuddering as he felt Roxas's tongue moving down, _lower,_ and oh god, his hands were on Axel's belt, holding it, resting there, teasingly, as Roxas leaned up on his toes to kiss again, and again it the salt and the loneliness and the desperate and the longing, and then—

"Hey! Axel? Axel, are you okay? What's going on? What's with the banging, dude?"

Axel's eyes flew open and so did Roxas's and they stared at each other in muteness as the knob on the door started to turn.

"Is it an earthquake?" came a second voice, slurred and squeaky.

They kept staring at each other, frozen in place, as the knob turned and Xigbar looked into the room.

He saw them and stared, and Axel couldn't read the look on his face, as his eyes flickered from Axel down to Roxas, and then to their shirts on the floor together. Axel couldn't move. Apparently Roxas couldn't either.

His face was still expressionless as he retreated, closed the door, and then they heard his voice, "No, he's fine. He's asleep. No, Demyx, it's not an earthquake, we live in New York. No! He's fine! _Demyx, if you go into that room I will not let you wear the dress."_

The whine and the voice moved away from the door.

Axel felt himself sag with the tension, and then Roxas moved away from him swiftly, so swiftly that Axel blinked, confused, and he looked, saw Roxas picking up his shirt and twisting it back right. Axel watched him wordlessly slip it back on and then go around the bed, to the door, hand resting on the knob.

"Roxas—"

"Please don't talk to me."

Roxas's voice, all steel and resolve, so different from just a few moments ago, made Axel move, made him push himself off the wall and head around the bed. The skittish look in Roxas's eyes made him stop at the foot of the bed, a good six feet away from where Roxas was at the door, hand still resting firmly on the knob.

"Roxas…"

Roxas wasn't looking at him now, was looking at the knob, his body tense and rigid.

"You're not… leaving, are you?"

That made the blonde look up sharply, questioningly.

"I think—"

Roxas turned the knob and was out the door.

Axel didn't go after him.

__

This was a one story house.

And Roxas didn't know where the attic was anyway.


	8. Part 8

Title: This Frenzied State [8/?]  
Rating: M  
Genre: Drama/romance  
Pairing: Axel/Roxas (AU)  
Warnings: Abuse of miscellaneous Final Fantasy characters. Seriously. Any mischaracterization is obviously all my fault.  
Summary: When Roxas stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see into some eternity. When Axel stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see how he'd survive a fourteen floor fall.

Author's Notes: There are mutant turtles in this chapter. I hope this makes up for the update failure.

No beta still, so feel free to point out any errors, constructive crit is always welcome. The hangover experience is brought to you by many years of experience. I turn 21 in a few weeks, I expect to be even more of an expert in it after that delightful day occurs. I'm hoping I'll have a brand new fic by that time, a short one-shot I've been semi-sorta working on. I posted a fic last year on my birthday, so attempting to continue that, er, pattern. Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

It was the shaking that did it. Not the pounding in his head, or the throbbing in his neck, or the way he felt hot. Something was shaking him, shaking him hard, and he moaned pathetically, trying to bat off whatever was interrupting his sleep, but it was insistent, and eventually he realized that someone was saying his name and that were was a light suddenly blaring in his eyes.

With a panicked yelp Axel grabbed the pillow and pulled it tightly around his head, the cool surface easing the temporary pain he'd felt in his head. His stomach felt hot, fiery almost, and he moaned into the fluff, legs curling up into a fetal position. Oh god it was hot.

"You're not going to puke are you?"

He moaned. The voice was loud and brass and Axel whimpered, biting the fabric with his teeth. Oh god, was he going to die? Maybe the alcohol had been laced. Maybe he'd been lured here just to die. Maybe it was some vicious plot to snag his inheritance, whatever that was, and they were going to destroy him right now. And make him suffer before that happened. Oh god, that was so not fair.

"Okay, stay there. I have to go to work, and so does Demyx. But you can stay here as long as you want, don't worry about it dude. There's a spare key outside underneath the squirrel, use that if you leave though and just put it back. Feel free to eat whatever you find." There was a pause. "Or well, I guess you won't want to eat anything for bit, huh? Okay, well, there's aspirin in the bathroom and just get the water from the sink. And if you have to blow it, just do it in the bathroom please. I mean, that is kind of rude, doing it in someone else's bed."

Oh god, was this person _ever_ going to shut up? There was a pat on the pillow over his head and he snarled miserably.

"I think that's it. Take care of yourself. Don't get the hell out of Dodge without saying bye though, that's rude too. Got it dude?"

Axel muttered an agonized affirmative, forcing himself to speak weakly with as much malice as he could muster, "Yes, I have it memorized, _thanks_, leave me alone."

The weight on the mattress was gone and Axel almost breathed a sigh of relief before the voice drifted back, this time thoughtful and amused and concerned all at the same time, "And you should probably talk to Roxas when you get the chance… I think he's upset. Not that I'm judging you or anything dude, I mean you were both fucking smashed… but you should probably talk to him, because he sure as hell won't talk to you if you don't say anything first."

This time Axel made no noise at all, and there was a heavy sigh and the door was shut.

A few minutes later, he threw himself out of the bed, yanked open the door, and was on his knees in front of the toilet, back arching as he emptied his stomach into the bowl. Oh god he was never drinking again. He sank to his side on the tile, not having the energy to move, and because he felt that in a few minutes he'd been having a repeat. It was cooler in here and there was no sunlight, just the cool tile on his face. He breathed laboriously, his stomach aching, and then was up again, dry heaving into the bowl before sinking miserably back onto the floor.

Nope, never drinking again.

Staggering back up, he found the aspirin that Xigbar had mentioned, dry swallowed them, and then went back to the bedroom, falling onto the mattress, curling into a ball and clutching his sides. Oh god, what was it? Beer? No, he'd had like four shots and like nine beers. Oh god he was an idiot. Oh god when was the last time he'd been so drunk? When Reno had been here last? No, when Aerith had gotten into the teaching college she wanted? No, oh fuck, it didn't matter, he was never drinking again, if he survived, he swore, he was never, ever drinking again. He gritted his teeth as his head pounded and licked his dry lips, wishing he'd brought some water with him back from the bathroom, but now he didn't want to move, didn't ever want to move again. Burying his face into the cooler sheets, he wondered if he could commit suicide by just throwing himself off the bed. Maybe if his head hit first.

The aspirin kicked in a second later and he blearily blinked his eyes, the pounding in his head starting to subside. He heard something in the hallway, past the door he'd forgotten to close, something that sounded suspiciously like a gasping sob and then gagging. He tried to find the energy to move, but he had no energy to do anything except sag there bonelessly, wondering distractedly who it was out there puking. Maybe it was his shadow. Maybe his shadow was puking, and thus, was saving him from having to do it again. That would be cool, if he had some sort of clone who he could call up to take that pain away from him. That way, anything unpleasant he didn't want to experience, he didn't have to. Everyone should have one. That way, the clones would feel the awfulness and their world could be peaceful and there would be no war. He had the answer to world peace. Right here, right now.

Except maybe it would probably suck for the clones. Ethics, that was a question for ethics, not him.

The noises in the hallway continued and there was a high pitched whimpering that came along with it. Poor whoever it was. Must be miserable. More whimpering, more ceaseless groans, and Axel groaned himself. Damn ethics. _Damn_ ethics. It was probably just some straggler from last night, probably one of Xigbar's friends. Maybe it was the mean blonde girl. They probably didn't need his help. He hadn't needed any help. They just sounded miserable. They could find the aspirin. Unless… unless it was one of Demyx's friends who was Xigbar's enemy. Because they were trying to hit on Demyx and Xigbar would be more than content to let them suffer. Axel felt himself growing cold. Maybe they were dying, dying in the bathroom, and he was here patting himself on the back and saying they deserved it.

Damn ethics.

Groaning again, Axel vaulted up from the bed, swaying on his bare feet a second, before coming around the other side of the bed and trying to open his eyes fully. He hit the door with a thud, then rebounded and hit the wall, before flailing into the hallway and catching himself before he hit the opposite wall. He wasn't as clumsy as Reno, he needed to calm this shit down. Blinking until his eyes cleared, he moved forward, still slightly swaying in his steps, coming to stand in front of the open bathroom.

Roxas was curled up on the tile floor, whimpering in what looked like a fevered doze, twitching and rocking back and forth, holding his stomach.

Axel stared, blinked slowly, and it came back to him in almost some sort of flurry. Him, pressed up against the wall. Roxas's lips. His mouth. Roxas, pressed up against the wall. The desperation. Roxas's eyes, and the way his hair fell over his forehead, over his eyes, over those too blue eyes that were full of longing and hurt and need. And then Roxas with his hand on the doorknob, those eyes turned on him, and then the door shut again and Axel standing there, shirt still on the floor, alone.

Axel backed up slowly, as not to wake him up, and then stood there, pressed up against the wall, listening to the kid pitching and moaning on the floor.

Oh, what the fuck now.

Axel went back to his room, found the mirror on the back of the door, and removed his shirt again. He found the bruises on his upper torso, the teeth indentions on his stomach and navel, and the marks on his neck that were all too visible… and numerous. He went back to the bathroom, quietly, listening to the sounds that were much the same as when he'd left, only this time the gagging sound was louder. He was throwing up again. Axel didn't dare look around the door frame and instead listened to Roxas pant loudly and then the whimpering again. Axel bit his lip.

He could A) let the kid suffer or B) let the kid suffer but intrude upon his perceived solitude and possibly make it better or more than likely, worse. He remembered too clearly Roxas's flashing eyes when he had rested his hand against the knob, ready to leave, and his plea not to talk to him. Axel had hesitated then, but he remembered the rigidness in the kid's stance, and the way his breath had hitched with near panic when Axel had taken those steps forward, to stop him.

And he remembered Roxas biting at his lip, and Roxas's skin beneath his fingers, and his eyes, all passion and desire and need and heat.

Axel heard him moaning weakly on the inside of the bathroom and bit his lip, harder, and he remembered too, Roxas's teeth at his neck, at his side, and the way he'd kissed him, all dangerous and needy, all fire and sultry, all slow and lonely.

Damn. Ethics.

He came to stand in the doorway, came to see Roxas with his eyes closed, whimpering and his hands clutching and his stomach.

"Roxas?" he asked, softly, rapping his knuckles weakly against the door frame. "Roxas, are you okay?"

The boy's fevered eyes sprang open and were unfocused for a second before they sharpened. His face visibly twisted into a near state of panic as he clawed himself up into a sitting position, wincing and clutching his stomach still, closing his eyes as he swayed where he sat before he opened them and refocused on Axel. There was no answer for a second, as Axel took a hesitant step into the bathroom. He saw Roxas's eyes sweep up, briefly meeting his eyes before dipping lower again, to linger on Axel's neck, where the bruises stood out, all purple and dark and deep, on Axel's pale skin. His eyes immediately dropped and he mumbled something incoherent.

"There's aspirin in here," Axel said, still softly and hesitant. He opened the mirror and took out the bottle, wrestling with himself about what he should do with it. He stepped forward after a second and extended the bottle. Roxas didn't look up at him, but stretched out and took it anyway, mumbling something again that Axel couldn't hear. A shudder wracked his body suddenly and his eyes screwed up as he clutched at his own arms. He looked ill, more ill than he should.

"Are you okay?" Axel asked sharply, now more than concerned.

The episode seemed to pass, though he was still pale. He looked up finally and nodded, small. "Y-yea, I'm fine. Thanks."

Awkward silences didn't come as awkward as this.

"Do you need anything?" Axel asked, breaking it and nervously running a hand through his hair.

"N-no, I'm fine, thanks."

"Are you going to be in here for awhile?"

There was a pause, and then Roxas said in a confused voice, "Uh, do you need to use it?"

"No, I'm okay." And he was, for at least a bit. For the moment he felt fine, though he knew these things came in waves and he was quite sure he'd be needing to use the bathroom sometime soon, though just not right now and he was sure he could work up the courage to go into Xigbar and Demyx's room. Though he was also quite as sure that he might die upon entering, with Xigbar being former sharpshooter and whatnot. It was a risk he was willing to take, however.

"Oh." Roxas's voice betrayed the confusion

"I'll be right back." He spun on his heel and went back into the room he had slept in, grabbing the pillow off the bed as well as the smaller blanket, and then going back to the bathroom, tossing them at Roxas. Roxas let them land in front of him, still curled up against the bathtub, and then leveled his gaze on Axel, almost suspiciously.

"I'm sure you're too young to know this," Axel said, almost cheerfully, "but you're not going to want to move. That'll make it a bit better until you feel okay. Just make yourself comfortable. You're not going to die, I promise. It might feel like that. I'm sure it does. It does help to make deals with god you know, you're never going to drink again, what have you, but let me assure you that you will. But there's solace in the fact that when you do drink, you will now do it in some consideration. Don't worry, it's a phase we all go through. Do you need any water?"

Roxas was staring at him, clutching the blanket in his fingertips now, eyes narrowed and confused and then the corners of his mouth turned up, only slightly, only slightly.

"What?" Axel felt suddenly self conscious, and like a fool. Roxas didn't want his help. Roxas probably just wanted him to leave. Some one night stand Axel was.

"Do you _ever_ not talk?"

Axel blinked, and then he grinned, a wide, stretched, smirked grin. "Nope. I'll be in the other room if you need anything. Remember, make some deals, it'll make you feel better." He saluted with two fingers and then turned around, closing the door halfway, as to allow some privacy, but enough so that he could still hear if Roxas suddenly decided he needed anything. Say, a gun to the head.

He sidetracked the room he'd been staying in, went inside to the living room where Roxas had slept, found the couch and the pillow and blanket he'd been using, and flopped on there, looking at the ceiling and wondering what he should do now.

A second later he was passed out.

__

Surprisingly, there wasn't any particular vicious need he was feeling to find the roof. As he'd already established, this one would not do any good. Nope, it was Naminé's building he wanted, Naminé's building he pretty much desired and had made a pact with. Some people made pacts with other people; he made pacts with buildings, because they didn't have feelings and if he failed them in any or form, then well, the retaliation would be very minimal.

Another wave of nausea made him clench his fists together, moaning quietly into the pillow he was resting his head on. Oh fuck. He had known this was a bad idea. Bad idea, bad idea, he should have just gone back to the building when he'd had the fucking chance, should have just taken up the elevator and pitched off it. Because now his stomach wouldn't stop churning and well, there was that guy outside, who had given him the pillow and the blanket, and his name was Axel… Axel Stone.

He dragged himself up by his knuckles and dry heaved into the toilet again, sinking back down to the tile weakly, blinking up at the ceiling. His stomach was starting to feel better, and though his head was still throbbing, it wasn't as bad as it had been when he'd first stumbled in here, dazed and sick and limbs flying every which way. He could probably move now, but he felt no desire or need to. Moving required energy. Energy required being motivated to do something. Being motivated generally meant that he'd be going to work sometime soon, but _that _was funny now, wasn't it?

Rolling experimentally onto his stomach, clenching his teeth in anticipation of pain, he blinked mildly in surprise when he felt nothing. He buried his face into the pillow, spreading out as much as he could, feeling cool and light and better. Or at least, better than he had. He was still liable to grab the bowl at any rate, but for the moment he was dandy. He tried to sleep, to drift, to forget, and when he remembered, he squirmed. Once or twice he shifted while his head was sloped downward, and he caught sight of the flesh on his stomach, underneath his sweaty and lifted shirt. There were light bruises there, and he pitched around, knocking into the wall and staying there, wondering if the guy outside would be gone when he finally found the energy to eradicate himself from the vicinity of the toilet.

If he could continue thinking of him in that light, in that manner, then Roxas saw no reason why it wouldn't be safe and pleasant to simply move on from this. No awkward conversations, nothing. Distant, fading memory of some stalker in the future, some drinks in him, and then well, whatever path in life he followed from here. This didn't merit a footnote. However short the history on his life was going to be after today, well, this guy didn't get his name indexed. No point, just painless, just some marks and maybe distant memories, because hell if he remembered much of anything. There had been some though, and Roxas rolled back restlessly onto his stomach, half dozing, making soft, whining noises into the pillow, there had been some though, some memories, and he thought they were decent ones. Heat, and touch, and some sort of fire in those green eyes, and it wasn't lust, no, not lust, it was some sort of desire to understand and at the same time, to forget. He'd been more than desperate, and Roxas whined in his daze, because he couldn't, not for all the rooftops in the world, figure out exactly what he meant when he thought of "he."

"Hey!"

The voice was distant, faraway, like the memory right now, of this guy who wouldn't be here when he finally got up, distant.

"Roxas, wake up. It's 2 in the afternoon. You need to get up."

He growled, snarled, snapped.

"Fine, don't bitch at me when you recover from this."

There was a dazzling light in his eyes then and he nearly shrieked, rolling away from the burst of light desperately, right up into the wall, clawing urgently out at whatever was trying to attack him.

"Woah, jumpy little thing aren't you?" the voice intoned mildly and Roxas snarled again, trying to reach out. "Come on, wake up. It's a new day. Sunlight, we should go outside and sing. Come on, get up."

Roxas blinked, once, twice, at the sound of the voice now, and his vision sharpened after a second. He rubbed his palms against his eyelids and then focused on the source of the voice.

It was him again. The guy. Axel.

"What are you talking about?" Roxas muttered. "Shut up."

There was a chuckle. "No. Come on Roxas. Get up. At least move over to the bed. It's been long enough, you should probably be getting home. Or at least, you should be getting dressed."

Roxas whined when he felt the hand on his arm and tried to bat it off, but he didn't try it very hard and suddenly the hand on his arm was pulling, pulling him up and up, and he opened his eyes truly then for the first time, yanking his arm away rudely.

"What are you doing?" he asked, in a halting, throaty voice.

"Getting you awake. Weren't you listening?"

Roxas muttered something that could have been "fuck you," and then staggered toward the door, away from Axel. He nearly fell into the door frame but caught himself, and strode out, succeeding in not falling down but not really succeeding in finding where he was going. He paused, looked around hesitantly, and then turned to see Axel going past him serenely, blanket and pillow in his hands.

"Come on, get dressed. Let's go."

Cocking his head, quite sure the fellow in front of him was on drugs, he asked, "Where?"

"To eat some zombies, come on."

__

"Honestly, how long have you lived here, Roxas?"

"Three years, shut up, this place is a hole in the wall."

Axel shook his head in a pitying manner and then propped up the menu again, his eye catching on the Friday special, the Glock Gyro with a side of Magnum Shells, which was what they called the fries here. Gyros and fries, interesting combination. He kept on down the list, but decided the cheap combination would be fine. He set down the menu, studying Roxas, who had his menu resting up on the table, so that his face was hidden from Axel's view.

Axel sighed, leaning back against the seat and jutting his legs awkwardly into the aisle. It would have been easier to just prop them up on the seat across from him but Roxas might freak out. He had been surprised when the kid had let him bully him into getting dressed and then grab his backpack and skateboard for him and start walking toward downtown. He'd followed, pretty mutely, getting by with monosyllable answers until Axel had stopped them in front of the place he'd seen yesterday only briefly. He'd conferred with Xigbar, who had confirmed his suspicions, and so this was their lunch destination. Roxas had stopped in front of the plain wooden door with a single slosh of red paint—red paint that looked pretty accurately like blood- and looked at Axel with an expression made entirely of disbelief.

"Are you sure we should go in here? I mean, the paint…"

Axel had raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you serious? You've never been here before? I mean, you live here."

Roxas had still only looked confused. "What is this place?"

"I can't believe you've never been here."

He was starting to look positively annoyed now, so Axel just shook his head and opened the door, stepping into the dark hallway. He followed it all the way back, with Roxas trailing dubiously in his wake, and then they turned a corner into a much bigger room. The red paint was more copious here, smeared on the floor in bloodshot patterns, on the tables artistically, and on the walls. The walls were also adorned with movie posters, with predictable names like "Dawn of the Dead," "Valley of the Dead," "Evil Dead," "Shaun of the Dead," and others, most of them including the word "dead" in the title. There were arcade games in one corner, and there were patrons sitting at tables eating, playing board games, using their laptops, and the servers moving effortlessly from table to table with food, all of them wearing plain white shirts with more splashy red paint. The lady who had come to greet them had her frizzy hair pulled back in a messy bun, had white stage makeup ghosted on her face, and red smears on her neck. She had led them to this booth, that had zombie pictures underneath the protective glass tableau, and then give them their menus, which had a very poorly portrayed cartoon on the cover and had delectable options like the "Bloody Breakfast Special," the "Undead Delight," and the "Shotgun Sandwich."

It was, in a word, classy.

"What can I get you boys to drink?"

It was the frizzy haired waitress, back with a fresh smear of red makeup across her other cheek.

"I just want a water," Roxas said from somewhere behind his menu.

Axel studied his menu for another second. "Can I have the Molotov cocktail?"

The waitress nodded, then asked, "Are you ready to order?"

Axel looked over at Roxas, who was still buried in his menu, and then said hesitantly, "No, I guess not." Her eyes went from Roxas, lingered on the marks on Axel's necks, and a sly little gleam entered her eyes. She was skating away a second later and Axel watched her go behind the counter and immediately started whispering to the other waitress, casting very obvious glances in their direction. He winced, then settled back in his seat a little, wishing he'd had a turtleneck shirt in his backpack but he hadn't foreseen any need why he would need one.

He hadn't foreseen a lot of stuff about last night, really.

There was some sort of music playing, movie themes, he thought, but it was soft and there was more awkward silence as Axel studied the clips underneath the tableau and Roxas got lost in the menu. Finally Axel couldn't take it anymore and he asked, "So, where did you live before you moved here, if you've only been here for three years?"

The menu didn't shuffle but Roxas said, "Brooklyn."

Axel nodded, enthusiastically, "There's where I live now."

Roxas's voice cut out before he could continue. "I know."

That silenced Axel and he went back to studying the clippings demurely. Maybe he should just shut up. Roxas obviously didn't want to talk to him. This was nothing more than some sort of polite "the morning after" lunch and after they were done they'd never see each other again. It was probably better that way. No, it _was_ better that way.

The waitress returned a second later with their drinks, all smiles and cherry lipstick this time, her voice practically dripping with suggestion as she said, "Alright boys, what can I get you to eat? Same check, I assume?"

"No," Roxas said, in a firm voice, as he finally dropped the menu. It was very light, but Axel saw the pink in the tips of his ears, and he had a very sudden vision of clarity. The dark, the cigarettes. His father, Roxas's job. Outside.

The waitress made a noise in her throat and then went on, "Oh, right, well, what are you having anyway?"

Silence on the other end of the table, so Axel said, "The Friday thing you have. The gyro."

"And for you, hun?"

Roxas looked like he was bristling dangerously for some reason, and then he said, "Same."

She practically squealed as she took their menus, then very pointedly looked from Roxas back to the marks on Axel's neck, and then very nearly skipped back behind the counter, where they could very distinctively hear her going on, "AND THEY ORDERED THE SAME THING, THE _SAME_ THING LINDA, HOW CUTE IS THAT?"

The pink in his ears spilled over into his cheeks, and Axel vaguely noted it was cute, in a weird way.

"Couldn't you have worn a different shirt?"

The venomous hiss made him immediately rethink the cute idea, and he felt vaguely insulted, but instead he said, with a bit of a smirk, "I didn't have one, sorry."

Roxas huffed, and then pushed himself further back into his seat. "Then pull your zipper up more."

Axel sighed and said nothing and made no move to zip his jacket up any more either. His eyes wandered boredly over to the arcade in the corner, where there were a few young boys crowding around one of the old school machines, the huge ones with the sticks and buttons you had to smack. He leaned a little over, to see more of what it was, and saw a bit of green and yellow on the painting on the side. He tried to remember from his childhood where he had seen that before, the green and yellow, and the brown, the brown too. It had been a birthday party. One of his birthday parties, and it had been at the mansion and it had been a proper birthday party, his only one. He had been nine. He had begged his dad for a real birthday party, a real one like Reno got, and he had wanted it at the mansion, just like Reno's too. His dad had tried to talk him out of it, to forcibly convince him to have one somewhere else, at his mom's, or at the park, but no, he had wanted it at the mansion, and it had been a fiasco, because his mom had showed up and she wasn't supposed to, had shown up and there had been a fight about something, and his uncle Tseng had smacked him across the face.

Compulsively he stood up, surprising Roxas who shot up in his seat, and started moving toward the arcade.

"Where are you going?" Roxas asked, almost panicked.

Axel turned to look at him, a very near smile on his face. "Come over here for a second." Without pausing to see if he had listened, Axel entered the arcade, striding over to where the boys were crowding in at. He stood behind them, looking at the drawings on the side of the box. They were turtles, and they each had Italian names and had different color themes and different weapons. He remembered the red one, because he had liked red back then, because it was his hair color and thus, made it cooler than any other color in existence. He'd made his dad buy the piñata, just like Reno had, with the blue turtle on it, so he wouldn't have to beat the red one to death with the stick when they came to that time in the party. The party had been themed after the turtles, more specifically the red themed one. Raphael. That turtle was badass too.

"Hey, are you guys almost done?"

His voice scared the kids, who looked up from their game pretty fast, and then turned back to it, already dismissing him.

"We have enough quarters, we'll stop using it when we're done," one of them said, haughtily.

"I just want one go," Axel interjected. "Can't you share?"

"Never had any brothers or sisters, don't know how," the same kid said, not even looking back at him.

"You parents aren't doing a very good job training you to be human beings."

"They're not training us, they're _raising_ us. Leave us alone, we were here first."

"Training, raising, same thing. Come on, just for a second after you guys are finished."

"We'll be finished after we're out of money." The kid reached down and patted his pocket. There was a jangle of change. "Oh, well, looks like it might be awhile. Sorry."

"How many lawns did you have to mow to get that?"

"That's my _allowance."_

"And you spend it all on video games?"

"No, on soda too."

"Soda rots your teeth."

"By the time I get old they'll have machines to fix that."

Axel folded his arms and nearly started to pout. He was 21 years old and he had just been unsuccessful in getting what looked like an 11 year old from giving up his video game. He deserved to pout.

"Nice job," came a voice from his side, and he turned to see Roxas standing there, a bemused look on his face. "Nice, nice job. Better stop while you're ahead, he's going to be stealing your manhood next."

Axel snorted. "I'd like to see you do better."

Roxas gave him a sort of challenging look, and then dug around in his pocket, emerging with two crumpled two dollar bills. "Hey," he said to the kid, approaching from the side. "I've got a deal for you. Two rounds with this machine for 2 dollars."

The kid looked at Roxas dubiously.

"Costs 25 cents to play this. I'm giving you eight extra plays."

The kid glowered. "Make it 3."

Roxas smiled. "No, this is what it is. Take it or leave it."

"Two fifty."

"No."

"Two twenty five."

"Guess you don't really want it." Roxas shrugged and went to put the money back in his pocket.

"Fine," the kid snapped in frustration then. "Fine. Here, get off Tony."

"I'm not done yet," the other kid protested, holding onto the joystick protectively.

"I'll pay for your next round, get off."

Once they had retreated to a safe, yet still close distance, the first kid called, "Two rounds, that's all you paid for."

"Little punk, he can't charge to use this," Axel muttered, stepping up to the console.

"Capitalism, my friend, capitalism." Roxas went to lean over on the other side, watching Axel fish around in his pockets for quarters.

"I'm taking the red, you can have the blue," he said, when he had found them. He bent to insert them into the machine.

"I'm not playing."

Axel looked up at him. "Don't be stupid. You just got this, you might as well indulge."

Roxas was nonplussed. "I don't play video games."

"This isn't a video game Roxas. This is, like, history."

Roxas raised an eyebrow. "No."

"Come on! If I lose I'll buy your food."

"No, I'm going to lose, and then I have to buy your food."

"I'll go easy on you," Axel protested.

"How about you buy my food anyway?" There was an absolute gleam in his gaze.

Axel narrowed his eyes. "Little punk, you can't charge like that."

"That's capitalism, my friend, capitalism," Roxas said smugly, and stepped up to the other side of the console. Axel muttered under his breath, something like "I'm going to set you on fire," and then stood up, grasping the joystick and resting his fingers on the buttons lightly.

"I'm going to kick your ass," he threatened, getting back some of his bite.

"Probably," Roxas said serenely, watching the screen.

"You're going to go crying back to your mom when this is over."

"Assuredly," Roxas said calmly, starting to tap on his button to choose his color scheme.

"I'm going to rob you of your masculinity."

"Absolutely," Roxas said agreeably, and then started to attack Axel's character without warning.

Roxas severely thrashed him the first round. Axel asked for a rematch and Roxas agreed, solely on the principle they still had one more play left granted by Attila in the corner. Axel started with a spectacular comeback, but Roxas decisively left him in the dust in the second round. Axel bribed two more rounds out of Attila with 3 more dollars. When he inquired about the price difference, he was informed that they had taken longer than necessary, and time was now more precious than it had been five minutes ago, ergo, the cost on time had increased. Axel won the first but Roxas killed him in eleven seconds in the second round and together they pooled their change and put 4 more dollars in Attila's pocket, and then went back for two more rounds. Roxas did him in effortlessly, and by the time they had recouped, eaten, and left the café (much to the sadness of the waitress, who had positively cooed when Axel had paid for the entire bill), Axel was twenty dollars poorer than he had been when they had entered.

"You so do not suck at video games," he muttered when they hit the sidewalk.

"Really, I do. You just suck more."

Axel tried to glare at him, but it came out more pitiful than anything. They started to go down the street, away from the direction they had come from, and Axel realized he had no idea where they were walking to. He fished his phone from his pocket and scanned the missed calls, but he had nothing. There was a text message from Aerith saying that she hoped he'd had a good flight home and one from Reno, jeering in his general direction from shortly after the funeral that he'd just gotten now for some reason, but nothing from his aunt. He sighed as he put it back in his pocket. He had one more day, maybe two tops before he had to go back to Brooklyn. He could put life on hold only for certain amounts at a time.

Roxas appeared lost in thought as they went ahead without talking, so Axel finally said, "So uh. Where are you going?"

The kid looked up at him, and then back down at the ground. "I don't know. Home I guess. Should probably brush my teeth. Has your aunt gotten back to you?"

"No," Axel sighed. "I don't know if she will."

Roxas quirked an eye at him. "What do you mean? She's not expecting you?"

Oh. That. Axel laughed, albeit a little nervously. "No. She's not. I just… got off the plane and hopped on a bus to get here. I tried calling her to see if she would be here but she didn't answer. I guess I just assumed she'd answer me when I got here. Or at least by the time I got here. But apparently that's not the case right now."

Roxas was biting his lip now. "So you just got off the plane to come visit her here without asking if she was going to be here when you came to visit?"

_Yea, basically,_ he wanted to say, but instead he said, "Well.. not really. Kind of. It's complicated."

"Right." Roxas didn't sound entirely convinced, but he didn't press the matter. Probably because to press the matter was to step into the territories of "familiar" and "friendship" and beyond the territories of "acquaintance" and "drunken awkward makeout." Axel didn't blame him. If he were on the other end, he wouldn't want to step beyond the "drunken awkward makeout" part either, because that was messy. Somehow they'd muddled through the obligatory awkward morning period, but they were supposed to be going their separate ways now. Not getting more involved.

Yea, and well, whatever, he wasn't on the other end.

"Like, see," he banged on, "my family's kind of fucked up. I'm sort of… estranged from my dad's half. Sort of estranged from my mom's half, really, too. I only ever talk to my brother—sometimes—and I hadn't talked to my dad in probably almost three years. And uh… well. There's my mom and me, and my brother and my dad and then my stepmom. My dad was pretty well off. Actually, my dad was kind of rich and high up on the social ladder and got articles written about him and all kinds of stuff. But anyway, like I said, I hadn't talked to him in ages and then he died and my mom paid for my ticket—even though I hadn't talked to her in a few weeks either, she let me know he had died though—and then I get over there and my brother tells me that he's been sending money to my mom for a long time now."

He paused, and saw that Roxas was more than confused, because his eyes kept narrowing and then going out of focus, like he was trying to think of the right way to word a question. Axel had thought he had made it pretty clear but then again, he had really left out the best part of the story. Or well, the part that Lifetime would probably be more than happy to make into an original motion picture. Come to think of it, he should probably get on that. Might as well jump on the bandwagon when the bandwagon was new, and all that.

"Like… okay. My dad's always been married to my stepmom. First marriage, perfect marriage, whatever. I'm his son from… my mom, who obviously isn't my stepmom so…"

Was he trying to say that his mom was a whore? A mistress? A slut?

He saw the recognition in Roxas's eyes though, so he deigned to clarify that further and then went on, "And well, I lived with my dad growing up so he didn't have to pay child support or anything like that, and my mom didn't get any money out of it either, or she wasn't supposed to, since she didn't take care of me, and now my brother is telling me he's been sending her money for ages. Which doesn't make sense, right?"He was nodding, but Axel didn't know if it was because he really understood, or if it was because he had nothing to really say.

He guessed the latter and ran a hand through his hair, sighing a little bit, before saying, "And I didn't find that out until yesterday and like I said, I don't talk to my mom really… she doesn't like to tell me things. So I can't ask because I know she won't answer me but she might have told my aunt, and my aunt lives here—somewhere—so I came to see her so I can find out why my brother's been sending my mom money. He's my half brother," he added, like it would help any.

"And he just won't tell you?"

Ah, he had been paying attention. "No, my brother's an asshole." He considered explaining the circumstances of _why_ Reno had dangled that particular piece of information in front of his nose and why he'd kept it back, but he decided against it because A) they were supposed to be going their separate ways oh, about now and B) because it might make him seem like the bad guy in this situation and he didn't want this kid's last, lingering memories of him as some heartless guy who hadn't stuck around for his father's funeral's extravagant after party. If he was going to make a mark, he should make one with slightly more flair.

"Oh." Roxas didn't say anything for a second, and then out came, in a bit of a subdued voice, "What are you going to do if she doesn't call you back?"

Axel shrugged, like it was no big deal at all. "I'm going to stick around here until tomorrow at least… but I need to get back home by Sunday at least. So if she doesn't show up by tomorrow night then I'll catch the first bus back on Sunday. My aunt's a freak. She'll go out of town with no warning to anyone and show back up a few weeks later, having spent her time in like, a monastery in Tibet or whatever. I could have guessed she wouldn't be here but…."

"You were hopeful?"

"Is that the word?"

Roxas grinned wryly. "Or you're just a dumbass."

He blinked, and then laughed. "Sounds about right, sounds about right."

They went on a few more feet, and then Roxas asked, "So what are you going to do now?"

Axel shrugged, again, like it was no big deal at all. "I don't know. Wander around here, find a motel. Haven't got any idea of where one is, do you?"

Roxas shook his head, bit his lip, and then said, "No, but if you need a place to stay you can stay with me. Or with Demyx," he added, hastily, "Demyx won't mind, he likes having people over, plus he's got the spare bedroom and whatever. I mean, it's up to you, you'd have to ask him yourself but yea, I mean, it's up to you."

Axel took the time, and considered the very obvious implications of the answers he could give to both these options. Staying with Roxas sounded… awkward. More than awkward, it sounded pretty painful, to be quite honest. And maybe not so painful or awkward, as so much stupid. They were supposed to be going separate ways. Moses was supposed to be splitting them up. Morning after, they were gone, one night stand, morning after pill, whatever, all those words people used in situations like this, they were supposed to be applying. But Roxas was heading in a distinctly different direction—inviting Axel to stay. Axel didn't know if he should be flattered or worried.

Or maybe, just maybe, he was making this into a bigger deal than it was supposed to be. Now, that was quite possible. He had an imagination, and big imaginations boded well for imaginative situations. Maybe Roxas was inviting him back to his apartment to murder him. To seduce him, and then murder him, and take the money he had on him and flee. He'd lost his job, after all. There was nowhere else to go, no way out. Make this his last stand and get out of Dodge while there was still a chance. He must have obviously deduced that Axel _had_ to have some money on him—and besides, Axel had come out and blurted that his dad had been loaded, in any situation. He'd probably be goading Axel in a few minutes to stop at an ATM, withdraw the spending limit so they could do something fun (what that was hadn't crossed his mind yet, but something like _matching bromance tattoos yo_ fit the bill), and then take him back to his apartment and kiss him and then shoot him while in a state of undress. That's how these types worked. Sly and slick and coy and all big blue eyes and lonely stares and needy kisses and desperate breaths, that's how those murderer types operated.

Or, maybe, just maybe, he was making this into a bigger deal than it was supposed to be.

The Demyx option was undoubtedly safer. Demyx couldn't kill someone to save his life. Xigbar might be able to, but Demyx would probably cry when the gun went off.

"Probably safer to stay with Demyx," he muttered.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Sorry." He shrugged, and then smiled, a very clever ploy to disguise his uneasy feelings of staying with the kid. Murderers, and all that. "We can leave that for later, I guess. I mean, she might call me later, so, no point in making plans now. I'll just roll with it when it happens."

Roxas looked dubious. "Because that seems to be serving you very well."

"Are you implying my simply boarding a bus here without any type of reassurance I'd have a place to stay or an aunt to talk to foolish?"

"Are you implying that your simply boarding a bus without any type of reassurance you'd have a place to stay or an aunt to talk to as anything _but_ foolish?"

"Duh Roxas."

The kid flushed for a second, and then shook his head, in a pitying fashion. "Beginning to see why your brother thinks you're twelve years old."

"Talk to my brother often, do you?"

This time Roxas did flush, more, and the tips of his ears went pink again. "No, I mean, when you called to change your flight, he was in the car with you and you guys were arguing…"

"You'll have to be a bit more specific, we get into a lot of arguments."

"The only one I've heard! You were going to your dad's funeral! You told him to stop acting like he was twelve and he said you were acting like you were twelve and on and on and on!"

"Oh, _that_ argument. Little eavesdropper you are, aren't you?"

Roxas glared. "I'm not going to dignify that with an answer."

"Loser." Axel saw they were coming to the main part of town, or at least the main street, the one that housed the bus station where he'd come in at, and where when they'd gotten off the bus the day before, Roxas had headed one direction and Axel had headed another. Probably meant it was coming up to Roxas's turn toward his home. He tried to figure out what to say. Roxas had taken a step in offering him a place to sleep should things not work out with his aunt, so did that fall into the category of Not One Night Stand or Polite One Night Stand Morning After?

"So… what are you doing for the rest of today?"

Roxas looked up in the late afternoon sun. "Eh, I have to be somewhere at five."

He didn't elaborate, so Axel said, "Oh. Right. This is where you turn to go to your apartment, right?"

He nodded. "Yea. Stalking where I live too, are you?"

"Yep. That's me."

Roxas offered a smile. "Yea. What are you going to do? Just hang around here? Demyx should be getting off work at six, you can text him and see if he has any exciting plans… it's Friday, there should be something going on somewhere."

Axel quirked an eyebrow at him. "Probably. What, you're not doing anything fun and exciting yourself tonight?"

There was a dark laugh. "Well, I'm not sure it's exactly what you'd call exciting?"

Now _that_ was interesting. What was it? Was he murdering people? Killing babies? Selling illegal drugs? _Doing_ illegal drugs _while_ killing babies _and _murdering people? That would be a great Lifetime original story too, just like his. Maybe they could make a deal with the station, get adjoining movie sets. It would really only make sense. One the poster boy for a dysfunctional family and the other also probably from a dysfunctional family who had turned to murder and crime to offset the effects of that. It'd be a double feature. Great ratings. Lots of tears. Only logical explanation for what Roxas was doing that was so exciting on a Friday night.

"So what are you doing?" he said, voice probably dripping with curiosity.

Roxas spared him a bored look. "Nothing, honestly. Just a lot of nothing and talking to people."

That invoked a grin. "Roxas, Roxas. You forget who you're speaking to."

Again with the bored look. "Trust me. You don't want to know."

Now Axel was getting indignant. "Are you just trying to get rid of me? Trying to go somewhere fun and holding back? Come on, you can say it asshole, I'm a man."

That actually made Roxas laugh, and laugh some more, dropping the skateboard so that the end rested against the pavement as they came to the corner. His mouth was set in a smirk and the gleam in those blue eyes was absolutely devilish. "Are you saying you want to come along?"

Somewhere in the back of his head there went off warning bells that were quite insistent about the fact that he should probably get the whole thing out of Roxas before he agreed to anything. For all he knew Roxas could be dragging him to his drop house that would be full of drugs and hookers. Better safe than sorry.

He'd been routinely shutting off that part of his brain for years, though.

Smirking back at Roxas, he said, full of bravado he was quite good at faking, "Why not? Bring it on. Anything you can handle, I can handle Rox."

He expected an indignant reply of him, but there was only a widening of that smirk and the gleam in his eyes grew. "Alright then. Come with me."

One of these days being able to turn off that part of his brain was going to get him into serious trouble.

He'd been telling himself that for years, too.


	9. Part 9

Title: This Frenzied State [9/?]  
Rating: M  
Genre: Drama/romance  
Pairing: Axel/Roxas (AU)  
Warnings: Abuse of miscellaneous Final Fantasy characters. Seriously. Any mischaracterization is obviously all my fault.  
Summary: When Roxas stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see into some eternity. When Axel stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see how he'd survive a fourteen floor fall.

Author's Notes: I'm just going to stop making excuses now.

A lot of you guessed where they were going which made me smile, but nobody got it right. THAT'S RIGHT, I TRICKED ALL OF YOU. No, I'm totally kidding. I hope where they end up at isn't disappointing after all those answers. I think this is the longest part so far. I also think I say that for every other one. Hmm.

* * *

"THROUGH THE LOOP, DARLING, THE LOOP, WILL YOU HELP YOUR _FRIEND_ PLEASE, HE DOESN'T LOOK LIKE HE HAS ANY CLUE WHAT'S DOING, SUCH A CUTE ONE TOO, GOOD JOB GRANDKID."

Roxas, at first, had felt very odd letting Axel accompany him to the nursing home. He'd had a feeling though, very pleasant and matter of fact, that this would potentially be okay and that it was the right thing to do. Vexen hadn't found him yet—he wasn't sure if Vexen was even here, being it so late on a Friday—and threatened to tell the court about his bringing a stranger into the grounds. And when Misty had set eyes on Axel and not stopped talking to him ever since, Roxas knew he had done the right thing. He sat back smugly in the chair, using his crochet hooks idly, enjoying the most uninterrupted time he'd ever gotten here. Occasionally Misty would bark orders at him to help Axel with his own crochet hooks, or Axel would shoot him desperate, helpless glances (to which Roxas would only glare in a very superior fashion), but for the most part, he was doing nothing that required thinking and that was a grand thing indeed.

Now, though, he leaned forward to help straighten out the line that Axel was working on. He'd had a fine chain down and he had wanted to go on with a chain forever, but Misty had insistently yelled at him until he'd been browbeaten into looping it up. It had taken him a few minutes, but he had figured it out and his long, thin fingers had taken to moving pretty quickly, working their way down to the other end. Misty had set him on a very simple patterned blanket and he could potentially have it done in a few days, but right now the whole thing was getting crooked, so Roxas untangled it and handed it back without saying a word while Misty went on and on about how cute they were. He ignored the most obvious innuendo in her voice, but Axel's faced had reddened a little as he obliged her nonsensical ramblings.

He probably felt bad for her, Roxas reckoned. She did look, after all, very old and senile. He wasn't out of that stage yet. He didn't realize how evil she really was. Roxas knew better.

"So tell me again where you two met?"

Axel's sigh was very nearly inaudible as he said, quite loudly and cheerfully, "In a park! I was walking my cat and Roxas was just strolling through the petunias and we ran into each other and decided to have a picnic. We then saved two small children from a very touchy ice cream vendor and then proceeded on to stop a bank robbery using only the powers of our minds. After that we decided to instigate world peace and save the world from meteor showers by redirecting the rays from the sun the opposite direction. After that we walked on the moon. It was a great first date."

A pause, and then Misty said, "I thought it was in Alaska where you were stopping outlaw oil supremacists from killing cute baby foxes for their fur."

"Oh, yea, that was in there too, don't worry about it. It was a great first date."

Roxas was quite content to sit there and say absolutely nothing and fantasize about the lock this place had on the door. The electric current one, he'd already thought about. But maybe there was a utility ladder somewhere.

"Well that's good," Misty was saying, positively beaming now. "It's absolutely wonderful you two are in love. I mean, it happens so rarely these days! And I just want my grandkid to be happy!" Her tone turned very serious. "Hear that, Axel? I just want my grandkid to be happy. If you break his heart I'll break your spleen."

"I wasn't aware that could be broken," Roxas interjected mildly.

"I WASN'T TALKING TO YOU GRANDKID; GO BACK TO YOUR PINK BLANKET. YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME IT WAS FOR THIS STRAPPING YOUNG GENTLEMAN HERE. I WOULD HAVE HELPED YOU MAKE IT LOOK NOT SO CROOKED AND LIKE A TWELVE YEAR OLD MADE IT. OH WELL. Anyway, Axel," she continued, lowering her voice and turning seriously back to him, "Like I said. I'll break your spleen if you break my grandkid's heart. I'm trusting this to you! He doesn't have much left in this world, understand? Don't you see how sad he is?"

Roxas looked up, narrowing his eyes.

"I do," Axel replied, solemnly.

"Good, I know I'm not the only one then. I mean, doesn't he just look like a sad little pumpkin to you?"

"Yes," Axel agreed, not looking at Roxas. "It's his eyes that give it away."

Misty nodded enthusiastically. "See, grandkid, look, he knows! You chose yourself a good one right here! Now, I don't know why he's so sad, I mean, he's got me and you, but—"

"Lots of reasons to be sad. Maybe something with his mom," Axel suggested.

Roxas's heart beat a little faster, and his chest tightened.

"Well, whatever the case, that's no reason to be unhappy all the time! You fix him up Axel! Fix him up right! Take care of him! I can count on you, right?"

"Yes, ma'am. Don't worry, nothing bad'll happen to him on my watch." Axel turned back to look at Roxas, and his eyes were smiling, more than his mouth was. Roxas did his best to smile back, but he wondered why Misty had never said anything. She'd treated him with nothing but… well, nothing but shortness and flirtations and jealousy and sometimes pure joy. Such was the life of one in such an institution, he guessed. But why had she never said anything about this supposed sadness? He didn't get it.

"Good," she said happily, sighing contently as she settled back into her bed now. "Good for you. Now, it's getting close to my bedtime. So, I want you both to go out and be happy! Will I be seeing more of you, Axel?"

There was an awkward silence, and then Axel said, just as cheerfully, "I'm going back to Brooklyn on Sunday. I live there, I just came to visit my darling Roxie for a bit." He cast a dazzling smile on Roxas and Roxas nearly shredded him to bits with the daggers from his eyes. "And he always mentioned how lovely you were so he brought me to visit you. When I come back to visit, I'll come see you," he said, reassuringly, when she looked a little put out.

"A long distance relationship can cause trouble," she said, a little darkly, and then brightened. "But I'm sure you two work it out just marvelously! Come here now Axel, give me a hug, you're part of the family now! Anyone my grandkid loves is fine with me!"

The smile as Axel went forward, hugging Misty in a mighty gigantic hug that made Roxas's little one arm grimaces look bad. He went forward obligingly anyway, putting an arm around her and a kiss on his cheek, and then stood back, running a hand through his hair. Now what? It was pretty early, only about seven, but her dinner would be in very soon and then she'd fall asleep not soon after. What about them?

_Naminé,_ he thought, _I need to go and see Naminé._

It occurred to him that he hadn't talked to her since he had seen her at her art show the previous day. Hadn't texted or called or anything. He didn't like when she fussed over him, so it was probably why she hadn't called or texted to see how he was doing. That was his daily duty. He'd forgotten. Granted, he'd had a good reason to forget, but it was still inexcusable. He'd hear hell for it as soon as he saw her again.

"I'll have this blanket finished next time I'm here," Axel was saying, carefully stowing the yarn and the crochet needle in his backpack.

Misty was beaming. "I expect it from you! Goodbye dear, goodbye Roxas, see you in a few days! You hang onto that one, grandkid! He's quite the keeper!"

"Yes, grandmother," Roxas sighed, and they left the room, heading toward the receptionist station.

"She seems like a pretty cool old bat," Axel said, shouldering his backpack. "Kind of off her rocker, but I guess that's to be expected, right? Sort of senile?"

Roxas cast him a dark glance. "No. Trust me. Misty is evil."

The look was more than dubious. "That sweet old lady? You're on cocaine."

"I wish," Roxas muttered, as they approached the station. Axel signed out and Roxas retrieved his skateboard and they started toward the exit. "No, she's evil, Axel. She is not innocent or sweet. She is pure, unadulterated, devilishly evil. She merely acts that way to weasel her way into your heart. Don't let her fool you. It'll only lead to your destruction."

Axel made a derisive, snorting noise. "Like I said, cocaine. Come on, she's—"

"_Roxas."_

"Oh shit," was all he had time to say before Vexen had swooped in on them, glaring at Axel and looking accusingly at Roxas.

"What's this? You brought someone to see Misty?"

He shuffled his feet, letting the tail end of his skateboard hit the ground. "Uh, yea. This is my friend, Axel. Axel, this is Dr. Vexen. Dr. Vexen, this is Axel. He wanted to come and see Misty and Misty was pretty thrilled to—"

"Any visits from anyone other than our community service people need to be approved." Vexen's face was long and angular, and right now it looked like the spot above his right eye was twitching sporadically. Roxas was used to it, but he hoped, oh he hoped, that Axel had the pretense of mind to not stare. Probably not, Axel was an idiot, but he didn't dare glance over. "You know this."

While he coughed to disguise his lack of an answer and his brain searching frantically for something acceptable, Axel stepped in smoothly, saying, "I'm sorry, this is my fault. Roxas very clearly told me the rules but he's told me so many nice things about Misty that I wanted to come and visit her. I just came to visit a few friends, Roxas here included, and it was a short notice trip. And she was very nice. Your facility is also very lovely, very nice."

When he saw how the twitching in Vexen's face increased, Roxas wanted to take Axel aside and _shake_ him, and keep _shaking_ him until his teeth rattled out of his mouth and he could no longer open his mouth to speak. He was sure he'd get endorsements from others about that, too. For the good of all mankind.

"That's very nice of you, Axel," Vexen said, still very venomously, "but rules are rules and it is Roxas's responsibility to follow them. Roxas, I'll be reporting to the court about this."

"Yes, sir," Roxas sighed, and Vexen glared at him and Axel once more for good measure, and then stalked off in the other direction. "Come on, let's go," he muttered to Axel as soon as Vexen was out of earshot, and he hotfooted it out, casting a flippant glance at the building across from the entrance of the nursing home; it was only three stories up.

Come on now, saving space was supposed to be in these days. Why was it these buildings seemed all perpetually short when he needed them to be tall?

"The court?" Axel asked, when they had gotten a few feet away from the entrance and were starting to head back toward Roxas's apartment.

"Eh, yea. I do community service here."

"Did you at least do something fun, like vandalize some cool old statue? Don't tell me you just did something silly like jaywalked. That's not what real men do."

Roxas pulled out his cell phone. "Eh, you could say something like that. To the first part, I mean."

"Well, as long as it was brave and manly, then you're good to go dude." They continued on a few steps, and then Axel said, in a voice that was tinged with guilt, "Sorry, man. I didn't know it was going to get you in trouble. I would have gotten myself into something else if I had known."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, they don't listen to what that idiot has to say anyway. They know he's full of it."

There was an uncomfortable nod while Roxas texted something, and then Axel went on, a little more jovially, "But yea, she was a cool old bird. At least you get to hang out with her all day and not some guy who can barely talk."

"Yea, god knows what my life would be like if it were full of people who _didn't_ talk," Roxas snorted, the implication clear.

It only made Axel smirk, and he said, "Boring, I promise. Who're you texting? Demyx off work yet?"

Roxas nodded absently, reading Naminé's reply. "Yea, he is. It's not him though, it's my friend." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. He wanted to see Naminé alone, because he didn't trust this fool with her, but for some reason he felt responsible now for Axel. After all, Axel had been trailing him around all day. To kick the dog to the curb was cruel.

He cleared his throat, and then said, "Uh, well, I need to go see my friend, her name's Naminé. Do you… want to come? Or you can text Demyx I guess. Or your aunt… it's up to you."

Axel mulled it over for a second. "Eh, my aunt hasn't gotten back to me yet… do you mind if I stick around with you? If you do don't worry, I can take care of myself," he added hastily, as though he were afraid of being branded some sort of dependant needy boy.

It was what he probably was, exactly, but they weren't going there.

He shrugged. "No, you can come, we're going to eat. Come on."

__

The girl in front of him had taken one look at him (more specifically, at his _neck_), then at Roxas, and decided they were going to be best friends. There was something more than possessive in the way she had sat down next to Roxas in the booth, blocking Axel from sliding in next to him. Axel, for his part, hadn't had any intentions of that and slid in on the other side, pushing his long legs out from underneath the table, so they strayed into aisle awkwardly but he hoped that nobody tripped over them and died. That would be… hilarious.

Roxas propped the menu up, much like he had back in the café earlier in the day, and busied himself in that. Naminé seemed to know what she wanted, because she set the menu down delicately and sipped some water, all the while surveying Axel not so very subtly. He didn't know whether to make a face at her or just take it, so instead he propped his menu up like Roxas had, and cowered behind that. Like a real man, yes.

"So where did you two meet?" Her voice was pleasant, but Axel could hear the prying undercurrents. Maybe she was Roxas's sister? They both had the blonde hair and blue eyes, though hers was more ashy than dirty. Or… or maybe she was some scorned lover. Hadn't Demyx said something about some girl who had once been obsessed with Roxas and brought him flowers at his work? He couldn't remember her name—he had a hard time remembering anything from that night, really—but what if this was her and Roxas was only bringing him around her to show him that he had protection should Axel decide to get sneaky? There could certainly be a demon lurking behind those innocent blue lenses. She looked like a succubus. Innocent and beautiful and _sucking your soul out of your mouth_ all at the same time.

"Through Demyx," Axel volunteered, still safely shielded from her gaze behind the menu. "I'm Demyx's friend from uh... work."

"So that means you work with Roxas too?"

He frowned at the red curry at her use of the present tense. Had Roxas not told her? He spared a guarded look from behind the menu but he only met another stained brown menu. Great. He realized he didn't even have Roxas's phone number. At least he was living up to his one night stand title admirably.

"No," came Roxas's muffled voice. "Demyx met him through work and I met him last night at Demyx's party."

"Have a good time?"

It was probably a good thing they were both hidden behind their respective menus. Axel wasn't sure he could have kept a straight face.

"Yea, it was okay," Axel answered, deciding to take the lead and steer the conversation in another direction. "Demyx and Xigbar are fun. Nice people. And what about you two, where'd you two meet?"

"Ninth grade," Naminé said, and he heard her tapping her fingernails against the countertop restlessly. "We lived in Tourton, which isn't too far away from here, and then Roxas moved here with his mom about three years ago. She moved to Brooklyn to be near her doctor after he graduated and when I graduated I moved here."

"This is a nice place," Axel said eagerly, dropping the menu, seizing on something he could compliment her about. It had been Reno's most top lesson throughout their entire lives: flattery got a person everywhere, particularly with women. He took Naminé for a more salt of the earth type, who would be better off being praised for her city and upbringing more than being praised for the way her earrings looked. "Very nice, very cozy. I grew up in Los Angeles and moved out here like three years ago. Not here, I mean, but Brooklyn. This place is nice though, a lot nicer than the city. Very clean, very fresh. Don't get that much these days, am I right? Especially not in the city. I mean, you'd have to go like twenty miles away to get such clean air like this! It's almost like being in some magical forest wonderland, it really is."

Naminé didn't say anything and Axel fidgeted uncomfortably, unsure of what he'd said that had been wrong. Maybe he should have compared it to heaven, or Canada, or something, because maybe comparing it to a magical forest wonderland had somehow offended her. He forgot, he was trying to respect and give due to her intelligence and stature and maturity and a magical forest wonderland was probably not what she wanted to be complimented on. It was childish. Great. _Great._

"He always talks that much Nami," he heard Roxas say then, as the kid dropped his menu. "Don't worry about it, it's natural. I need to use the bathroom, get me my usual okay? I can leave you two alone, right?"

Axel gave her a big cheesy grin; Naminé surveyed him coolly and then nodded a yes to Roxas. _Strike two for me,_ Axel counted dejectedly as she got out of the booth so that Roxas could slide out and head toward the bathroom. She sat back down, this time moving all the way so that she was up against the wall and could examine him from an angle now, unlike before when she could only look at him straight on. He could feel her eyes lingering on his neck again, almost accusingly.

"So… I'm a little confused. Why're you hanging out with Roxas now?"

Oh god she could be Angela's smaller, prettier twin. Straight to the point, this one.

Axel leaned back against the cushion, looked up at the ceiling a moment, and then smiled. "You wouldn't believe me if I said it was because he owes me money and I'm trailing him around until he coughs up?"

Her expression shifted mildly, but there was a dangerous gleam in her eye now. "As much as I'd like to, no, I don't think so."

He shrugged, spared another glance at the ceiling, and then said, "Well, might as well tell you I guess, since I'm sure he won't. He's pregnant. It's mine. We're considering adopting it out. We're both all kinds of immature, not a good environment to raise a child in, you understand."

The expression shifted again, the gleam remained, but now a smile tugged at her lips. "Really Axel, tell me. It's because you like him, right?"

Again, straight to the point.

"No," he trailed off, eyes down toward the table now. "No, not really. Yea, you're probably wondering what these are—"and he indicated his neck "—and yea, they're what you think. But uh… I don't know. I came up here kind of spur of the moment so I've got no place to stay yet and Roxas offered to let me camp out with him tonight. I'm waiting for my aunt to return my call so I can go and visit her."

She was perplexed now, tilting her head and brushing hair back from the front of her face. "That was easy," she commented. "Not pulling teeth, like I expected."

He spared a shrug in her direction. "I'm not the most secretive guy, if you can't tell."

"Plus it's written all over you," she added.

"I had no turtlenecks. Didn't expect to need them."

There was a chuckle. "Not what I meant, but anyway. So what did you two do today?"

The waiter came and Axel ordered and then Naminé ordered for both of them and when he was gone, Axel said, "Nothing really. Woke up really late because we were both fucked up to heaven and hell. And then we went to that zombie place downtown and then he took me to see the old lady he has to visit in the nursing home. Misty. That's it. Nothing dangerous or shady or with ulterior motives, I promise."

Again she was frowning, before saying, "He took you to the nursing home?"

Axel nodded. "Yea. Just hung out there for a few hours and talked to that old lady. And I offered to get but he said I could come eat with you guys and like I said, I don't really have any place to go… well I mean, I can, but…. Well Roxas offered so I said yes." He felt only very slightly defensive.

"Well that's nice of him," she said, sinking a little down to the side. "Sorry. I'm not like this normally. But Roxas is like my little brother. I worry about him. I mean, didn't expect him to bring home a boy from last night."

Axel blushed and that made her smile. He berated the sensors in his face and gave them a strict warning that the next time they did that, he was cutting them out. Blood and extensive facial reconstruction surgery and all, they were coming out next time they decided to act up. He wasn't supposed to _blushing_, that wasn't him. Not good, face sensors, not good.

"It's not like that," he objected, only minutely.

It was a small, secretive smile. "If you say so, Axel. If you say so."

He was about to press her for more information when Roxas showed back up, sitting back down and looked vacantly at the table in front of him.

"Things okay? You took awhile."

Roxas nodded distractedly.

Now Naminé was frowning, moving up again to peer more closely at his face. "What's wrong, Rox? You're not acting like yourself."

Axel would have liked to vouch for that, if only to support Naminé's argument, but he was struck again by the very true fact that he did _not_ know Roxas. A few hours of hanging out, an old crazy lady, and a very alcohol induced make out session did not make for _knowing_ someone. But even he was getting the very distinct feeling that something was bugging the kid in front of him. There was a very serious air in the way he replaced his and Naminé's settings since they had traded spots, and in the way he stirred his tea with the straw, as though he was looking past everything. Thinking deeply, in any sense, and Axel was more or less okay with letting him think deeply, about whatever he wanted to think deeply about, but Naminé wasn't.

"Roxas, what's wrong? I know something was wrong yesterday."

They had talked yesterday, apparently. They were apparently best friends forever. But well, this was still not knowing Roxas and what he had done yesterday prior to party and Drunken Makeout. It deserved capitals now.

"It's fine, Nami. My mom wants me to go back down tomorrow. Says she's sick again."

Naminé didn't say anything for a second, Axel considered excusing himself to the bathroom, and then she said, "You aren't going, are you? You were just there, Roxas."

He gave a little helpless, unsure shrug—more helpless than anything. "I know that. But she asked me. Said she was sure she was really sick this time."

"Did you talk to the doctor?"

Roxas shook his head, saying, "No. It was a voicemail. I haven't called her back yet."

The food arrived then, surprisingly quick, all clanking bowls and white rice and spice. There was a certain thing in Thai food that Axel found soothing; he had grinned when they had first approached the restaurant. It probably had to do something with the fact that it was just super spicy. His entire family had not been able to handle spicy food. Reno had nearly choked on a pepper one time and from then on, Angela had forbid the household staff from cooking anything even mildly out of a regular temperature level. Maybe it was the extreme, maybe it was the secret, gleeful feeling he was privy to when he ate it because he felt it was giving him some more control over his life. At least, more control than what he'd had when he was a kid, in any case.

Naminé seemed to drop the issue, because now she was going on about some art show. Axel was treated to a very thorough description of her collection. Roxas had rolled his eyes at one point and Axel had seen, but they had only shared a very secretive smile when Naminé prattled on and on about watercolors and canvasses and the types of paintbrushes she used and how she used acrylics, at time, but her subjects took more easily to watercolor paints. She was very passionate about her drawing, there was no doubt in that, and Axel tried to butt in, at times, to talk about his experience in that field, because he did graphic arts and was quite handy with a paintbrush in the form of digitalized pixels on a screen. She would have none of it, however, and determinedly kept on over him. Roxas had grinned then, at her deft handling of Axel's supposed talent, and Axel had pouted until Roxas had rolled his eyes again, kicking him stealthily under the table. Axel had arched an eyebrow, kicked him back, and they went on for a second, until Axel caught the waiter staring at them, before he went back into the kitchen and started talking loud in Thai, and though Axel couldn't make out the words, he was pretty sure it was something along the lines of _"AND THEY WERE PLAYING FOOTSIE, IT WAS SO CUTE LINDA, SO CUTE."_

He returned to ask for dessert and Axel had actually opted to have some of the mango cake. Roxas had seemed surprised for a second, like it had startled him out of the bad mood he was in, and then asked for the melted bananas and fruit. Naminé had daintily declined, like the woman she was, but when the waiter returned she was more than happy to sneak out of both their dishes. Axel didn't mind though. Her smile was mischievous, and her eyes were kind, and she hadn't verbally abused him too badly over his and Roxas's drunken makeout. She sort of reminded him of Aerith, in a way. When she wasn't reminding him of Angela, that was.

When they were through and Axel had finished his third sermon about how mangos were obviously a superior fruit to bananas, she stopped, though, and looked very seriously at Roxas. "So what're you going to do?"

Even Axel could see through his feigned confusion.

"About your mom, Roxas. You're not actually going to go down there, are you? You were just there."

Roxas shrugged again, and Axel could see he was ready to shut the cover on this one. He would make this decision alone, and any disturbance or pleading from Naminé was probably not going to do any good on her behalf. He'd make up his mind on his own terms and with his own facts.

This was, of course, speculation, as Axel did not have a very high powered microscope to peer into Roxas's brain. He had a hunch though. The squaring of the shoulders was familiar. So was the way he shrugged. Maybe it was just a boy thing.

Naminé was persistent, though, and continued on, "Roxas, listen to me. Your mom does this all the time. It's got to stop. You're already going down there next week. She can survive a day or two without you."

He waved a dismissive hand, and said, "I know, Nami. I'll figure something out."

"It's probably nothing, Roxas." Her voice was forceful. "Talk to her doctor. And you have work. You can't keep skipping out on work when she has episodes like this. You have to go to work."

Axel lowered his head, and he expected Roxas to do the same, and was surprised when there was a harsh, almost barking sound from him, so unlike the easy going demeanor he'd just had in the past few minutes. "No, I don't. I got fired yesterday, Naminé."

Silence, and Axel again hastily wondered if he should excuse himself from the table to use the bathroom. The blank, confused look on her face was nearly embarrassing. It was sort of like watching some family drama, some soap opera. He imagined they'd be perfect for that, the perfect brother/sister dynamic. They were both quiet, except Roxas was sulky, and Naminé was patient. In the end they could turn to incest and have twin children, exact replicas of their parents, and so on and so forth and the world would explode and so on. He wasn't sure he wanted to be part of what was to come though. Roxas had taken out his phone and was shuffling through it now, while Naminé still hadn't said anything, like what he had just said wasn't registering properly in her brain.

When she finally did speak, her voice was subdued. "Did something happen?"

Again with the barking, harsh sound. "Obviously. I said something wrong over the phone. Or rather, Demyx did, but I was responsible. It went in my file. My file has too many pretty sticky notes over it. Lexaeus fired me. Said I wasn't the same type of employee I was when they hired me and my customer relation skills were not up to par. So, he fired me. So no, I really don't have anywhere to be. I mean, might as well be a good son while I can, right?"

He really, really hoped that she would leave it at that, let the transgression go, let Roxas just meander down whatever path he was currently on, but no, her words cut through that and they were infused with passion now and was that… anger he heard? "_Roxas._ Do _not_ let your mother bully you into going to see her! She _doesn't_ need you, she's fine, don't you see that? You need… you need to start figuring out stuff up here first. It can wait."

"Her situation sounded pretty dire, Nami."

Whatever kindness in her eyes there had been had been replaced by some sort of blazing demon now. Yes, exactly like Aerith. Now she was the perfect Angela/Aerith demon. Anrith. Aergela.

"It always sounds dire, Roxas. It's what she does, to keep you waiting on her. You can't keep doing that. What about yourself?"

"This isn't the time, Naminé," Roxas said, and it was said lowly. Dangerously.

"No, this is the time Roxas. You're listening just as well as if you'd listen any other time. Which is nothing, because you don't ever listen to anyone except yourself. And you're wrong Roxas, you're wrong this time like you've been this whole time about your mom."

"I think I know the situation with my mom better than you do," Roxas snapped.

She did not back down. "No, you can't see this clearly. Your mom's sick Roxas. And you're not letting her get better because you're constantly rushing to her side. You're feeding her delusions. You're the problem, you're not helping. You're being a bad son by going back to her again and again, _that's_ what's making you the bad son. You're all she has Roxas. If all she has is you and you keep showing her again and again that you're always going to be right there, she's going to keep holding onto you because that's all. It's only you."

"Stop it Naminé." Roxas stood up, suddenly, glaring down at her. "I don't know why you chose right now, but just… I need to think about it." He stood down and furiously yanked the skateboard up from underneath the table. "My mom, my life, just leave me alone okay?"

"You're being stupid," she said, and her cheeks were red.

He yanked out a bill from his pocket, threw it on the table, and opened his mouth, like he was going to say something, but on the end he just turned on his heel and walked out the door.

Axel was starting to feel very, very, very much like he was on the set of the soap opera. He looked at Naminé, expecting her to start crying, but her cheeks were still only red, and her eyes were angry.

"He's an idiot," she said, her voice hushed, but still brimming with something that was pretty much anger.

Axel nodded uncertainly. He didn't want to betray Roxas by agreeing with her—he'd know her less time than he'd known Roxas, in any case—but she was right in this instance. "Yea. I don't know what's up, but you shouldn't take it personal… I'm sure you're trying to help him…"

When she looked at him, he thought her eyes were glistening now, but it could have been just a trick of the light.

"You better go after him, Axel."

Axel started. "What? Me? I don't even know him. I mean, let me assure you, I know him a lot better than I did twenty four hours ago but uh, I mean, we're not even really friends."

This smile was all knowing, and shaky. "No, but he doesn't want to see me right now. He needs someone. Trust me. Please go after him. I don't want him alone right now."

There was an unpleasant prickling sensation at the back of his neck. "What do you mean?"

This smile, now, was sad. "That's not my place to say," she said slowly, sliding out of the booth. "But I just don't want him alone and it'll only make him angrier if I go after him. The skate park's down the block from here, to the left. That's where he went. If he skipped that, his apartment is one block down from there. The building's called Willow Creek. He's in floor seven, number 813. Keep knocking if he doesn't answer. He hates it when people knock. He'll open it eventually."

"Alright," Axel said, hesitantly, still not sure why he was following this girl's instructions.

This smile, finally, was again sort of mischievous. Knowing. "Thanks. It means more than you know."

He smiled too, then, taking a bill out of his pocket and putting it on the table. He clapped her on the shoulder, in a friendly fashion, and was struck at the boniness of it. "Not to worry, lass. I shall find your yonder ruffian and make a man out of him."

He winced. Oh, the innuendo, it was suffocating.

She didn't notice or chose not to say anything, because there was still the smile, and said, "See you."

He tipped her a salute, and walked out, down the direction she'd pointed him in, more questions on his mind than before. Obviously there was something wrong with Roxas's mother that made him travel to Brooklyn more than necessary. Naminé had certainly thought that whatever was wrong with his mom wasn't enough to worry about; Roxas certainly thought that whatever was wrong with his mom was definitely enough to make him doubt himself as her good son. Now he was a lot of things, and he was never a psychiatrist, but he'd read enough books and watched enough movies and listened to enough goddamn women at the Laundromat to know that Roxas probably had deep and severe mommy issues, which would explain, he admitted, quite a bit.

He got lost twice on the way there, and by the time he did arrive at the skate park, he'd made friends with three stray dogs, one stray man, and about a zillion stray insects that were intent on landing on him and sucking out his blood. It was dark, the street lights were on, and Axel was pretty sure he was about to be muscled into the back of some dark van, driven to a street corner, and there made to perform devious sexual actions that would at some point in his life require him to bow before a cross and announce his sins. By the time he had found Roxas sitting idly on the lip of one of the depressions in the ground, he was swatting his arms every three seconds, trying to drive off the swarm of mosquitoes that had been perpetually around his head since the time he'd left the restaurant.

"This place sucks," he mumbled when he approached Roxas, who hadn't turned to look at him.

No response, but he hadn't exactly expected one. He stood behind him, a respectful distance, and continued to bat his hands against his face and neck. Goddamnit he wished he'd brought a turtleneck. It would have been more useful in protecting himself against malaria then it would have been protecting himself against whatever vicious onslaught the marks in his neck could potentially have brought.

He contemplated what to do now. He could A) drag Roxas up by his hair and drag him back to his apartment, throw him inside, and then demand to know what the hell was going on in his life because damnit, Axel had been in it for twenty two hours now and he deserved to know everything or B) leave Roxas here, get a motel, and leave without ever having to see him or face Naminé again. It was probably the less messy of the two options, and probably carried less baggage with it. He swatted his neck at a particularly tender spot and cursed, which still didn't make Roxas turn around to see what the hell was attacking him. Option B for him it was then.

"Did Naminé ask you to follow me?"

Damnit, just as he was about to spring into motion.

Running a hand through his hair, almost nervously, he said, "Yea. She did. Said she'd just piss you off. Was she right?"

"Yes," Roxas said, no emotion.

Pause, and then Axel said, "Am I pissing you off?"

A decidedly short time before Roxas said, "No. But I wish you weren't here."

"Yea, me too. You have terrible tastes in hangout places. I'm catching West Nile as we speak."

"Then you should probably go."

Again there was no emotion, only the flat monotone.

There were bountiful options in what to do in this situation, but after wrestling with twenty six letters and sub letters and even sub sub letters, he decided on the very first one he'd come up with, the one that came before knocking Roxas over the head and stealing all his money and the one that came before calling the cops to let them know there was some drunken child molester in the park waiting for small children to come along all by their lonesome to be snatched up. He chose the first option, and moved forward, until he was sidelong by Roxas, and then sat down, dangling his feet over the lip of the bowl as well.

"I don't think I said 'yea, sure, sit right here by me.'"

"You were thinking it."

Roxas snorted.

"I can't go. I'm crashing at your place. If I didn't, I'd have to stay with Demyx, and I am sorry, but I am not drunk tonight and I do not feel it necessary to hear any sort of strange noises those two make in the middle of the night. Feel free to go over there, though. I'll just stay in your apartment, safe."

"Your aunt didn't call you back?"

His humor was not appreciated. "No. She's probably in Africa. Catching animals with her bare teeth and wearing their bones as necklaces. She does stuff like this a lot."

"Sort of a leap of faith then, you coming up here to see her?"

Axel sneaked a glance in that direction. Just hair, shadows, and more bugs. "I guess. Thinking ahead, never been my strong suit."

"I'd say."

Were they going to go on like this before? Axel slapped his neck. It came away with no bug guts.

"Do you think I should go see my mom?"

More hair, shadows, bugs. "You're asking me?" he said, carefully.

A small shrug. "Naminé thinks I shouldn't. I think I should. One of us needs to be right."

"Sounds simple enough. Well, in that case, I think you should listen to Naminé."

Axel expected an indignant response; he expected some sort of explosion, some sort of pathetic whine, some sort of half assed excuse and pitiful little sob story. There was none of that, only the hair seemed to sink deeper, the shadows changed, and Roxas was leaning forward, forearms on his mostly parallel thighs, head leaving over the edge and face turned downward.

"I think I should listen to her too."

Another slap, another sting to his bruised neck, but no guts. "So what's the problem Sherlock? Stay here."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

Axel had a lot of options here too, and he played out the scenarios in his brain, and it didn't really matter which one he picked, really. Most of them ended with blood, bullets, carnage, some type of ambulance, a few pigeons, and mostly, blood. Lots and lots of it, gallons of it. He wondered how much blood the human body held. Probably a lot. Paying attention in biology would probably have helped. Wasn't his fault he hadn't paid attention in that class, after all. The professor was a fox.

Ignoring his instincts to put a ring around Roxas's eye for that type of statement, he instead rolled his own eyes. "You're asking me my opinion. Thought I was entitled to it."

"You still don't know what you're talking about."

"So why don't you enlighten me?"

A chuckle, dry and dark and deep. "Rather not. I prefer we know each other for a full twenty four hours before I divulge that type of information."

"It's been almost that," Axel protested. "I mean, that time we spent on the phone could definitely be counted toward that grand total."

"Yea, probably like ten minutes. You're still two hours too short."

"I see. Well, come on then." Axel picked himself up, being very careful not to topple into the skateboarding pit. "Give me your board."

He should have done that a lot sooner, he noted, as Roxas's head shot up at the very mention of the board. His eyes were narrowed, suspicious, full of distrust.

"What do you want it for?"

"So I can ride it, duh."

"Do you know how?" The tone was skeptical. More than skeptical. Probably almost amused, actually.

"You say that like you don't trust me. Come on, I won't break it, I promise. I know how."

Roxas still looked dubious as he clambered up to his feet too, holding the board gingerly and pretty much protectively, away from Axel, against his side. "Don't know how much I like this," he said, uneasily.

"Come on. I won't go in there. Just let me take a spin on it."

There was still the distrust as he handed the board to Axel, who immediately dropped it on the ground and lined himself up with it. It was a regular board, trucks and wheels resting gently under his weight as he tested it while Roxas hovered around like an anxious parent. His baby was about to leave the nest. Axel was, most assuredly, not the baby in this particular situation.

"Why do you want to ride it anyway?"

"To kill the two hours before you can tell me what the hell is going on." And with that Axel propelled his right leg, sliding forward effortlessly. Roxas gave a confused chortle behind him but Axel was already riding away, waving his arms for a second while he regained his balance. It came, slowly and sort of awkwardly, but he managed to get a good dozen yards away before he had to stop himself. He did this rather ungracefully by precariously taking one foot off the board, stomping it down frantically onto the ground, and then skittering to a halt while the skateboard went sliding forward gently, coming to a halt a few feet away. Axel had nearly tripped and lost his face in the process, but at least he hadn't messed up Roxas's precious board.

He turned around to see Roxas hurtling past, going to the board and retrieving it, and Axel could almost hear the sweet nothings it was getting whispered, the "Don't worry, don't worry, it'll only hurt for a little while, you did a good job, don't cry, don't cry, it'll be okay."

Things had been okay for Axel for awhile. He'd learned skateboarding pretty easily. He hadn't learned how to stop though. He had enough scars to prove it.

That would never and wasn't ever going to cut it.

"Thought you said you knew how to ride it," Roxas said crossly, stepping back toward him.

"I was riding it, wasn't I?"

"Crash landing much?"

"Oh please, I barely even hit the ground."

"You nearly lost that face of yours, buddy."

"Bet you would have cried, wouldn't you have?"

"Shut up asshole."

"You're the asshole."

"Yea you're stupid."

"You're an idiot."

"You're retarded."

"You're a little bitch."

Roxas made a snorting noise, and then dropped the board, this time resting one foot squarely in the center of the black grip. "If you say so," he said, and pushed off, gliding forward effortlessly. Axel made a face at him, and started following along leisurely, as Roxas made a circle around the pit in the ground. Around the edge, with Axel a few feet back, Roxas dropped into the pit. Axel was vaguely concerned, but then Roxas was up, body and board contorting in the air, and Axel had a split second to remember that his eyes were blue, so blue, and they were more important.

It took a few minutes, but Roxas seemed to get it out of his system quick enough. When he came back to Axel, he gave up the board without too much of a fight and laughed, not cruelly, while Axel figured it out. He could ride and he could skate and just keep going and gliding, but stopping, no, stopping had never been a good point for him. Ever. About a half hour into Axel's disastrous attempts to stop that involved a trash can and a light pole, Roxas took over and showed him how to do it.

He still had trouble with it.

But it was better than it had been an hour ago.

That done, they returned to the apartment. Roxas found him some blankets and set him up in the living room, after introducing him to the cat, a cat named something completely boring like Rex. Roxas had said he was trying to be funny. Axel had replied that only blind nuns with no sex drive could come up with something that funny and they'd spent a few minutes chasing each other around the small apartment, Roxas holding a pillow to defend himself and Axel holding up the cat itself. When they had finished, Roxas had turned on the light in the kitchen as a courtesy, brushed his teeth, and then stood in the doorway entrance of the hallway, watching Axel twist and turn to get comfortable on the small couch.

Fat chance.

"Be good," Roxas murmured.

"Always Hulk Hogan," Axel had replied, and promptly passed out.

When he woke up in the morning, Roxas was in the kitchen, on the phone, deep in conversation with someone. He pretended to be asleep, digging his head into the pillow and tossing and pitching around for good effort. He needed to use the bathroom very, very badly but to suddenly wake up seemed rude. Instead, he tried to make a show of it, kicking his legs up, flailing about like in the throes of a dream, eyes kept firmly shut the entire time. He could hear the entire conversation and it was still going and Roxas was still sounding angry, so he hastened his flailing, and finally when he couldn't take it anymore and he thought he was about to explode in a dozen fiery pieces, he faked the hugest yawn he had ever faked in his entire life, sat up, shook his head, and fake wiped the sleep from his eyes.

When he opened them, Roxas was sitting on the arm of the chair, staring right at him.

"Problem?" One eye was raised skeptically.

Axel pretended not to notice and faked another yawn, not the biggest he had ever faked in his life, but it was up there. "Morning! How're you today?"

"Didn't you mother ever tell you to not eavesdrop?"

Axel dropped his hands, shook his head emphatically, and said violently, "I have no idea what you're talking about! I just woke up!"

That eye was still raised. "Right."

He was going to explode. "Yes, right, and if you excuse me, I need to use the restroom!"

He tried to get up before realizing he was too long for the couch, as always, and not only was he too long, he was tangled up in the sheets due to the incessant acts of show off-y sleep throes he had just put on. He tried to pull his legs out, but they were caught, and when he realized that fact, he attempted a kamikaze maneuver to escape and ended up crashing to the floor, head tilted at an awkward angle up at Roxas.

Roxas made no move and only, if possible, raised his eyebrow a little higher. "Stuck, are you?"

"I am most certainly not!" He sat up, kicked his legs, and felt the sheets tighten around him in a very suffocating fashion.

"You sure?"

"I am!" He tried to move his arms; they constricted around his chest and he made a strangled little gasp.

Roxas slapped his knees and stood up, a smirk on that too young boyish _asshole_ face of his. "Well good, now hurry up and get dressed because I have stuff to do and places to see and bitches to kick and well, you need to hurry up."

"Right!" Axel wanted to salute, but his arm was presently pressing up against his side in a very dire fashion. Roxas walked away and Axel glared at his back. Fine. He was finally able to tear himself free of the blankets just as he thought he was going to blow up and then he ran to the bathroom, locking himself inside and feeling a very cozy sensation of relief. He came out a second later, didn't see Roxas, and retrieved his backpack and changed into the last spare set of clothes he had brought and then called out to Roxas to see if he could borrow Roxas's comb.

There was a muffled affirmative reply from Roxas's bedroom so Axel ran it through his hair, got it stuck, tugged, and broke off three successive teeth. He bit his lip, threw the comb in the trash, stuck some toilet paper on top of it, and then tried to look very innocent and shining and the perfect example of a proper and decent young man when Roxas came out of the bedroom, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He seemed to know something was up, because his eyes were suspicious but Axel very determinedly denied any accusations of brush breaking or toilet paper stealing behavior.

"You sure you okay? You don't need something?"

"No! I am great! My hair looks great too!"

Roxas regarded him with an eye.

"Great! "

"Okay. Well. I have some stuff I need to take care of today. Um… what are you going to do?"

Axel ran a hand through his perfectly combed hair, felt one of the teeth still embedded near his scalp, and very surreptitiously pulled it out while appearing extremely thoughtful. "I don't know," he said, slowly. "My aunt hasn't called me back… I need to head back to the city tomorrow. " He shrugged, the weight of what he had just said settling on him. He was stupid. He looked bleakly at his phone, and then accusingly at it. It was stupid. He was stupid. What had he been thinking? To just throw himself on a bus and jet up here, like her life revolved around him and damnit, he needed her, now, and she was just supposed to know that?

And the food had been great and the zombie café had been worth and Roxas… well, Roxas was just what he was, but honestly, had this trip produced anything worthwhile?

No. He had just stupidly rushed up here, assumed things would work out because they always did, and this time, they hadn't.

Roxas appeared to sense that he was troubled by the fact, because he offered, half-heartedly, "You never know, maybe she just had trouble with the phone… I mean, you could look her up in the phone book, right?"

Axel shrugged. "Yea, I guess." There was still that sort of dismayed glint in Roxas's eye, so he said, a little more brightly, "Yea, that's probably a good idea. I mean, if she isn't back by tonight well… what can you do, I guess? I tried. Nobody can say that I guess."

Axel was grateful when Roxas did not point out the obvious, but instead glanced down at his watch. His wrists were skinny too, Axel noticed. Skinny and thin, not skinny and thin like Axel was, but unhealthy skinny and thin. It was natural for him; he didn't gain any weight no matter what he ate or what he did, and his bones stuck out more prominently than they should have, and he was scrawny and generally looked underfed but he was healthy and while looking underfed he was still... healthy. Roxas's sheen in his hair was forced, the glint in those too blue eyes was tired, and he was skin and bones and desperation and longing. Something was there, Axel realized, something important, but it wasn't his place and instead he just wondered again, instead of just asking, wondered again what was wrong with Roxas's mother and why he needed to head down there so frequently and why Naminé had been so adamant against his going when he clearly had desired to visit her.

In Axel's book, that made Roxas a good son. In Roxas's book, that made him the only acceptable son there could be. In Naminé's book, apparently Roxas's going to see his mother made him a worse son than if he actually never spoke to her again.

He hadn't known Naminé for very long—hell, he'd known Roxas just over twenty four hours now—but the girl was sincere and not bitter and not needy and needed Roxas to be okay. It was in her face, in the way her arms moved, in the way she had looked at him. Roxas was lonely and desperate and searching; Naminé wasn't any of those, but her face was fragile, and though she was strong, she needed him. She needed him to be okay.

"Well, like I said," Roxas went on now, "I have stuff to do. I mean, I'll be around later, I don't think I'm going to take off until tomorrow either but… I was going to get something to eat. Did you want to come?"

There were a million snide remarks—_aw, did you just ask me on a real live date?—_but Axel smartly held his tongue and replied with a casual shrug and a smile, "Sure. That's fine. I'll figure out what to do from there."

There was a nod, with a bitten lip. "Right. Let's go. No zombies though."

Axel raised an eyebrow at him. "No zombies, huh? You're lame."

No flashing eyes, just a wrinkly little smile. "Yea, I get that a lot."

"Demyx?"

"He's pretty vocal about it." They walked out of Roxas's apartment and he locked the door. "Demyx is a good guy but he's pretty persistent. I'm lame, he's the greatest sitar player who ever lived, I have no life, Demyx gives better blow jobs than I do, it's sort of this retarded competition that I have no interest in that makes him happy." A shrug as they entered the elevator, and Axel saw his eyes dart up, just quickly, just a glance, to the topmost button, before his hand slid down away from it and tapped the ground level. "He's a good guy. I'm glad I met him."

Having no cue to go on, Axel nodded and said the truth. "Yea, he seems nice, so does Xigbar. I've got to say bye to them. They were pretty adamant about that."

"They would be," Roxas nodded. "Very social, those two."

This time Axel nodded, and they stepped out of the elevator and went down the corridor, toward the street. Roxas stopped at his mailbox and opened it; there was nothing except some bills and some leaflets and fliers and some bag pleading for Roxas to donate all his old clothes to the veterans' who had served his country nobly, now didn't he want to give something back to those who had given everything for him? Axel pointed this out; Roxas snorted and pointed out he doubted any veteran wanted his old Vans and checkered hoodies; Axel replied they would the most fashionable old men in the hospital because Roxas had _style_ and it wasn't every day you found _style_ just lying around; Roxas nearly decked him but they went into the street then, laughing, and that's when they heard the voice behind them.

"Axel! AXEL YOU FUCKING IDIOT, GET OVER HERE YOU LITTLE PRICK."

They both turned around at the sound of his name and when he did, he wasn't sure who was more confused—Roxas, because he was seeing a ghost, or Axel, because this shouldn't be happening in a zillion years.

It was Reno, and he was coming toward them and Aerith was behind him, and he looked utterly and completely pissed.


End file.
